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A GODDESS IN EXM." ' 

By PHILIP S. WARNE. 



New York 

•^TREET &^^MITH. PUBLISHERS- 

2S^~JI ROSE STREET. 


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mention this publicedion. Prepared onlj’ by Van Houten & Zoon, Weesp, Holland. 



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THE COUNTY FAIR. 


By NEIL BURGESS. 

Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous seasou in 
New York, and booked to run a jhird sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

THE COUNTY FAIir will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same uniqua 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Head the foUowing 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Biirgass has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen tho 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 

f mblic out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
n the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literarj’ 
Qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful —A. Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. Tfiia 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, , follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and vHoi.— Chicago Dauy News. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enj<wed even by those who have never heard the play and still more by those who 
haye.— Cincinnati Times-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— A Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an aftecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
Borrow, and rural scenes.— San Francisco Call. 

This romance is written from the play of this name and is full of touching incidents. 
—Bvansville Journal. 

It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— Fall 
River Herald. 


Tl3L© Ooia.aa.ty is No. 33 of “The Select Series,” for 

sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 26 cents, to any 

address, postpaid, by STREET k SiUXlit Publishers, 26-81 Bose st., New York. 


THE. SELECT SERIES 

A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION, 

IDevoted. to Grood K-eading in -American Eviction. 

SuBSCKiPTiON Price, $6.oo Per Year. No. 81.— APRIL 7, 1891 

Copyrighted 1891, hy Street £ Smith. 

Entered at the Tost-Office, Neio York, as Second-Class Matter. 


A Goddess in Exile: 

OR, 

THE SPANISH PLOTTERS. 


A Tale of the Sunny South. 


BY 

* 

PHILIP S. WARNE. 


NEW YORK : 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 


SIBEEI & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES Ko. 23. 


£*rice« 25 Oent«» 


Some Opinions of the Press* 

MAflthe probabilities are remote of the play *The Old Homestead » belnff , 
■een anywhere but in large cities It Is only fair that the story of the piece should 
1)0 printed. Like most stories written from plays It contains a great deal which 
la not said or done on the boards, yet It Is no more verbose than such a story 
should be, and It gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It Is to be hoped that the book will make 
a large sale, not only on Its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to seo 
them on the stage.”— A. Y. Herald, June 2d. 

“ Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ Is a story'of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerated home; of a grand old man,, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned In 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and Jealousy, without an Impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields In every chapter. It Is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead.’ ”—N. Y. Press, May 26th. 

“ Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New YorTc Weekly, have brought 
out in book-form the story of ‘ The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with such wondrous success. It will proba- 
bly have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers In giving the 
drama this permanent Action form.’’— A. Y. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“The popularity or Denman Thompson’s play of ‘ The Old Homestead’ has 
encouraged street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set in the same scenes and Including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book Is a fair match lor the play in the simple good taste 
and real ability with which It Is written. The publishers are Street & Smith, and 
^ey have gotten the volume up In cheap popular form.”— A. F. Graphic, May 29. 

‘ “Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep* 
ntatlon, to every piay-goer In, the country. Its truth to nature and Its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved In this story, which Is founded upon It 
and follows Its incidents closely. The requirements of the stag*^ make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life In the little New Eng- 
land town Is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent idea of what It Is like from the book. Both are free from sentlmentall‘ir 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy In tone.”— AfOanj/ Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead’ has been put Into story-form and is Is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen it the great popularity of the Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

“The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ Is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took In Its representation. This Is the story told In narrative form as well 
as It was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they ha^e seen the 
play or not."— National Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theater In New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of Its true and sympathetic touches oi 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell- bound are here ro- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to propose ; 
the fall of the country boy Into the temptations of city life, and his recove^ by 
the good Oldman who braves the metropolis to And him. The story embodies w 
{^t^e play tells, and all that It suggests as well .”— Citu Jounm^ 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


CHAPTER I. . 

A GODDESS IN EXILE. 

“A woman who knows how to mind her own business — 
that’s the the English of it !” growled James Rawlinson, 
Esq., as, his face half smiling, half serious, altogether 
perplexed, he stretched his legs under the office-table, 
tilted back in his chair, and rumpled his grizzled locks by 
passing his hand rapidly round and round his head. 
“ Donna Catalina, you show a thorough knowledge of your 

sex, by sending over a thousand miles for such a rara 

Tut ! tut ! I’m getting ungallant ! But, hang it ! where 
am I to find what the lady herself confesses her inability 
to discover ?” 

Impatiently he caught up the letter again — a very 
dainty affair, indeed, written on thin, foreign-looking 
paper, in that graceful back hand known as Italian script, 
and dated at Biloxi, Mississippi. 

“ ‘Understand,’” he read aloud, “the lady will be 
bound, by oath’ (bound by a fiddlestick !) — ‘bound by oath 
to ask no questions, to listen to no gossip, and to reveal 
nothing that she may accidentally discover. ’ (What con- 
founded fol de-rol.) ‘You will tell her nothing that you 
may know of us.’ (A needless precaution, my lady. 
From looking after northern interests, and keeping an eye 
on his son, Max, at Cambridge, what did I learn of my old 
client ? That his note never went to protest, and was 
good for as many naughts as he chose to put on it. But, 
Max ? — a dused clever fellow ten years ago, and a good 


6 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


guaranty for the rest of the family.) ‘In return, we will 
accept her on your recommendation ; and she will find us 
as uninquisitive concerning her affairs, as we are reserved 
about our own.’ (You’ll never stick to that, my lady.) 
‘ Her duties will be confined to the care and instruction of 
a child of seven. ’ 

“Etc., etc., etc. But why all this mystery? — that’s 
what I’d like to know. And where shall I find a woman 
with less curiosity than my own? But perhaps some 
daughter of Eve will buy the pig in order to find out why 
it is sold in a poke.” 

Ah I had he but known ! Perhaps he would not have 
leaped to his feet so abruptly as to tip over his chair, cry- 
ing: 

“I — will — be — hanged! Just the woman, by all that’s 
beautiful I” 

Then, with a quick-coming look of pain and anger, he 
struck the table with his fist. 

“Hang me, if I don’t wish I had — somebody by the 
throat !” 

Drawing his hat resolutely over his eyes, buttoning his 
overcoat up to his chin, and thrusting his hands deep into 
the pockets, like a man who is out of humor with the 
world, he stalked forth into the keen November air, to 
thread the tortuous “ cow-paths” of the “ Hub. ” 

“I don’t have to go to Beacon Hill to look for her now !” 
he growled, as he turned out of Harrison avenue into 
Beach street — that wilderness of boarding-houses. 

A slatternly servant admitted him along a strip of 
dilapidated oil-cloth, and opened the door of an apartment 
where he exchanged the smell of cooking which pervaded 
the hall for a mildewed odor which made the parlor an 
abomination to men and gods. 

Then up the snake-like strip of oil-cloth she shambled, 
to a little back room in the fourth story, where a girl sat, 
with her elbows on a sewing-machine, and her chin rest- 
ing on her clasped hands, while she gazed through her one 
window, out over the chimney-tops, at the dull, gray sky. 

“A gentleman in the parlor to see you, miss,” said the 
slatternly servant, with pert crispness. 

The girl came out of her reverie with a start, and rose 
to her feet. 

As she stood thus, she looked like a goddess in exile. 

Never were features cast in a purer mold, nor figure 
shaped into grander symmetry. Her simple black robes 
fell about her with a grace which no art could effect. Be- 


A GODDESS 12^ EXILE. 


7 


fore the reposeful dignity of her face the gaze of the inso- 
lent servant sank abashed. 

“Thank you. I will go down directly,” she said, in a 
voice of low, sad music ; and the maid retired, in a rage 
with herself because the had been “ looked down by that 
stuck-up beggar.” 

In her little mirror, whose imperfect glass reflected 
her face awry, Agatha Malden saw gold-fringed eyes of 
whose blue drooping lids gave them an expression of inef- 
able sadness, and rippling blonde hair, whose sunny 
beauty ought to have framed a joyous, laughing counte- 
nance instead of that face as white and cold as marble. 

With a few deft touches, in which every turn of her 
shapely hands, every poise of her head, every flexure of 
her body was full of native grace, she arranged her hair 
and adjusted the lace at her throat, and was ready to de- 
scend to her visitor. 

As she entered the room and saw who that visitor was, 
she paused involuntarily, her eyes fell to the floor, and 
a painful flush mantled her pale cheeks. 

With a fatherly kindness, James Eawlinson hastened to 
meet her, took both her hands, and led her to a seat, say- 
ing, only : 

“ My dear Miss Malden.” 

But the heart speaks in tones, not words. The gentle- 
ness of his voice — its great pity, its great reverence, its 
underlying stratum of indignant protest told her all that 
he felt. That was balm, where words would have been 
rankling poison. 

One swift glance of thanks she raised to his face, 
through eyes that were humid with unshed tears. 

Directly he opened his business, and placed the letter in 
her hand. 

She read it through with deepening interest, then raised 
her eyes to the lawyer’s face with a look of questioning 
perplexity. 

“It was very kind of you to think of me,” she said. 
“ But who are these people, and why so strange a mys- 
tery?” 

James Eawlinson smiled. 

“ Excuse me — but are we not already infringing on the 
restrictions ? I am to tell you nothing, and you are to 
make no inquiry, beyond your immediate duties.” 

Agatha drew back apprehensively. 

“ I confess that I shrink from placing myself in a posi- 
tion of such uncertainty,” she said. “But if you know 


8 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


enough of them to think it prudent, I would be willing 
to trust to your judgment without question.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” said the lawyer, pressing her 
hand with a show of emotion. “Be assured that I would 
not willingly expose you to danger, or even embarrass- 
ment. But, unfortunately, I must confess that I know 
nothing about them, except in a business way. ” 

“ But you would not have come to me ” 

“ Unless I had thought that you might accept with safety 
and — advantage. ” 

The last word was spoken in a tone and accompanied by 
a look almost womanly in their tender commiseration. 

The girl’s eyes filled. 

“Yes — yes” she murmured, with trembling lips, almost 
anything were preferable to this — living — death.” 

The lawyer’s face fiushed with an indignant glow. His 
hand clasped hers with directing force. His voice indica- 
ted deep earnestness. 

“ Miss Malden, my gray hairs give me the right to speak 
to you — you need a father to advise. I protest against— it 
is not right — this self-immolation ! No tie, however 
near ” 

“Stop !” cried the girl, a spasm of keen pain drawing ill- 
beseeming lines in her face. “ In your kindness to me, do 
not do injustice to ” 

But James Rawlinson sprang to his feet, and striking 
the air with his clenched fist, while he strode across the 
room, cried : 

“ I’ll be hanged ” 

Then, his generous impulses having carried him beyond 
bounds, his great respect for this woman instantly brought 
him back, and he said : 

“ I beg your pardon ? But, my dear child, this is enough 
to upset any man who has a drop of blood in his veins to 
boil ! There is a point at which even the noblest impulse 
may become a positive wrong. Precious little danger in 
the case of most people ! All the more reason, then, that 
a grand nature, which is equal ” 

The girl shook her head. 

“You do not know ” 

“ But I do know.” 

Without heeding his impulsive interruption, she went 
on : 

“ I should not have lost sight of this. It is not for me 
to question them. Of course, you cannot recommend — 
such as — I ” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


9 


Her voice choked, and she dropped her face into her 
hands with a stifled cry, in which the spirit burst the 
bonds it had placed upon itself. 

At that the lawyer took her resolutely by the shoul- 
ders. 

“Look here !” he cried, in a husky voice, “if you carry 
this thing any further — if you refuse this opportunity on 
that score — I’ll be hanged if I don’t give my version of a 
certain affair ” 

“Oh, no ! no ! no !” cried the girl, with detaining clasp 
on his arm, and her frightened eyes raised to his face. 
“You must not. You have no right ” 

“Right or wrong, I’ll do it.” 

Then the weary head sank upon his kindly arm, the girl 
sobbed, with a great outpouring of gratitude. All the 
world was not against her. Here was one in whose 
trust she could balm hor sore heart. 

When the lawyer, whose flve hundred calf-bound vol- 
umes had not dried up his warm heart-currents, was again 
in the street, he growled : 

“That one rolling in wealth, and this one — I’ll be ” 

And thrusting his chin further into the collar of his 
coat, and his hands deeper into his pockets, he forged 
ahead like an angry locomotive, shouldering every one 
from his path. 

* ******* 

In a grove, at the back of one of the most stately man- 
sions in Cambridge, surrounded by extensive grounds, 
Agatha Malden had been waiting with rare patience for 
perhaps three-quarters of an hour, when there approached 
hurried footsteps and the rustle of a silken robe, and she 
was joined by a lady younger and of smaller stature than 
herself, yet with enough resemblance to show that they 
might be sisters. 

But where the elder was wan with care and arrayed in 
almost pinching simplicity, the younger was plump and 
rosy, and decked in the garniture of wealth. 

Over her evening dress she had thrown a gray wrap, 
which she drew closer about her with a little shiver, as 
she said : 

“Oh, dear ! I know that I have kept you waiting cruelly 
out here in the cold. But Horace is so particular about 
my appearance, and we are to have an old classmate of his 
to dinner. ” 

Without a word— -it seemed as if she could not have 


10 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


spoken to save her life — Agatha Malden took her sister 
in her arms, and her heart swelled in her throat until it 
forced hot tears from her eyes. 

That silent struggle with heaving breast and quivering 
frame, brought quick tears to the other’s eyes, and she 
said, with something of the half-petulant grief of a child : 

“There, there Gathie, dear, you always make me cry. 
And it won’t do for me to be red-eyed to-night. It is un- 
generous for you to reproach me, though of course I can 
never forgive myself. Heaven knows that it rends my 
heart every time I think of you, and you are never out of 
my thoughts — never for a single moment. It spoils all 
my brightest hours. I can’t help thinking that I have no 
right to enjoy all this, while you are — so ” 

But her voice died away in sobs. 

Agatha Malden held her sister at arm’s length, and 
gazed into the troubled face, its baby dimples, its baby 
complexion, its baby quivering of the lip. All was soft- 
ness, weakness. Her sobs were fitful winds, her tears the 
transient showers of April. 

“ But it would not have benefited you to spoil all of 
my life, would it, dear?” she continued, with a piteous 
appeal in her tear-swimming eyes. 

Then over the grandly magnanimous soul of the elder 
sister came a great tenderness, a great pity, a yearning, 
almost motherly love that crushed down the rebellion in 
her heart, and she said : 

“No, May! Try to forget the bitter past, dear, in the 
brighter present that is yours. Don’t think of me too 
much. ” 

“ But I can’t help it, Gathie, dear. Your very pride is a 
constant reproach to me. When I am making my most 
elaborate toilet, I can almost fancy I see you in the glass 
standing just behind me. And you always come up to my 
mind in that dress. Forgive me, dear, but it is dowdyish ! 
Not but that it is made nicely. You always had ‘faculty,’ 
as grandma used to say. But then it’s so plain ! Won’t 
you let me help you, dear ? It will make me feel much 
more reconciled.” 

She half -drew from beneath her wrap a crimson silk 
purse. 

But Agatha shrunk back a step, even removing her 
hands from contact with her sister, as she said, with a 
shudder : 

“No ! no I uot his money,” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


11 


“But he will never know, dear. And, indeed I have 
more than I know what to do with,” urged May. 

Agatha did not try to explain feelings which the 
narrower nature could not comprehend. 

“Put it away, please,” she said, gently, yet decidedly. 
“I have something else to tell you. I am going away.” 

“ Going away !” echoed May, in alarm. 

“Yes,” and her limbs began to tremble, and her heart 
contracted with a spasm of pain that made her voice 
hard and husky. “ You do not need me now. There is 
one who will look well to your comfort and happiness, 
though he has treated me a little hardly — a little hardly. 
Only because his own standard is so high — I do him that 
justice. But to me — I — this life is unendurable — unen- 
durable. I must get away. I must get away.” 

Now the woman was quivering from head to foot. Her 
hands were wrung with a vise-like grip. In her uplifted 
eyes there was an intense anguish, in her voice a wild cry 
of the spirit that frightened the other. 

“Gathie I Gathie 1” cried her sister, springing forward so 
that her wrap fell unheeded from her shoulders, and 
catching those hands which were raised in despairing ap- 
peal to the God who had not withheld one drop of gall 
from the bitter cup. 

Then the mother-nature of that great soul asserted 
itself, and with a swooping motion Agatha flung her 
arms about her sister, clasping her close into her bosom, 
and kissing her again and again, and yet again — lips, 
brow, and eyelids — with a wild energy, while her heart 
went out in the cry : 

“Oh, May! Oh, May! My darling! My little dar- 
ling !” 

In the strong passion of one, in the startled excitement 
of the other, neither had heard the approach of a heavy 
footfall, deadened by the velvet greensward. But at this 
supreme moment a pitiless grasp tore away Agatha Mal- 
den’s clasping arms, and snatched her sister from her 
bosom. 

Horace Warwick claimed his wife. With the strong 
hand he snapped that other tie of sister-hood, and with 
flashing eye and curling lip spurned the rival claimant. 

With a shriek the weaker woman fainted away, and lay 
limp and white in his arms. 

Shocked a hundredfold more deeply, she whose strong 
soul rose superior to the weakness of her sex, shrunk 
away, grasped a sapling for support, and so stood, pant- 


12 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


ing and gazing at the man with a look that must have 
pierced him to the heart but for his blind prejudice, his 
headstrong anger. 

“You here?” he cried, his brows deeply indented, his 
nostrils white and quivering, his strong frame shaken by 
a storm of passion. 

She answered not a word, but only looked at him. 

“Did I not forbid you to approach her again, to speak to 
her — to hold communication with her in any way ?” 

Still no reply — only those accusing eyes, that labored 
breathing, that tottering form. 

But no shaft of pity pierced the triple armor of his 
wrath. His eyes were blind to as grand a spectacle as 
man ever looked upon. 

“I do not blame her,” he went on, hotly. “She is 
scarcely more than a child. But you” — an unconscious 
tribute, for there was not two years difference in the ages 
of the sisters — “ you — this leading her from duty into dis- 
obedience and deceit, is of a piece with your other shame- 
less divestment of all womanliness ! It is not enough that 
we must bear the odium of relationship to one who could 
so far forget the commonest self-respect, but you must 
come here to still further contaminate ” 

“Stop !” 

Ah ! now his bitter words had roused a nature grander 
than his own. Her benumbed faculties burst their para 
lyzing bonds asunder. The woman that was in her as- 
serted itself, rearing her form to its superb height, dilat- 
ing her breast, making her cheeks glow, and her eyes 
blaze. Every muscle was tense, every nerve tingled 
as with an electric thrill ; her voice rang forth as clear 
and sonorous as a silver bell. 

“ Stop. Look to your own honor. I stand without a 
blemish.” 

For one instant the majesty of her presence over- 
powered the man. Before this avalanche of self-asserting 
truth his wrath was as nothing. Only an instant. Then, 
like the shifting of magic, the goddess vanished and the 
woman stood in her place. 

Into her eyes came a great fear ; from her lips sprang a 
cry of horror, remorse, appeal; and she sank on her 
knees at his feet, and raised her clasped hands and her 
face, gray in its pallor, stony in its despair, to his bewil- 
dered gaze. 

Not then, but later, Horace Warwick understood the 
lightning stroke that shattered in mid-career the Juno- 


A GODDESS m EXILE. 13 

like pride of this woman, and cast her a suppliant at his 
feet. 

Her grand self-assertion, like an intense but instantane- 
ous flash of light, came and was gone before he realized 
its significance, leaving him the more lasting and there- 
fore more palpable fact of her humiliation. This he mis- 
construed utterly. 

“ Do not appeal to me !” he cried. “ Go — and never dare 
obtrude your baneful presence here again !” 

Then he turned the face of his unconscious wife — that 
baby face, so piteous in its white helplessness — turned it 
to her sister’s view, and cried, savagely : 

‘‘Look at her ! Do you recognize your handiwork ? This 
is the second time she has lain thus. My God ! have you 
no heart ? Go, go, before I forget ” 

But the words choked in his throat ; and with a tender- 
ness as deep for the one as his scorn of the other was bit- 
ter, he gathered his wife close to his heart, kissed her 
wan cheek and bloodless lips, and strode away with her 
toward the house. 

The woman for whom his blind rage knew no pity 
uttered not a sound. From her kneeling posture she sank 
with her face to the ground. She had not fainted. She 
lay there quivering with anguish. 

Pigmy natures babble their little griefs. The god-like 
suffer mutely. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


a 


CHAPTER II. 

THE MAN AND THE WOMAN. 

Near the Cambridge end of the “Long Bridge,” which 
spans the Charles River from Boston to the sister city, 
stood a man of thirty years, with a haughty, exclusive 
air, and a stern, dark face, stamped with high intellectu- 
ality, and denoting a nature gentle, yet strong, which had 
been embittered by suffering. His fine black hair and 
mustache, and dark complexion, the heritage of a South- 
ern sun, intensified the commanding presence derived 
from a perfectly developed physique, and an erect, almost 
military bearing. 

Roving over the scene, as one renews old associations 
and greets again once familiar objects, his dark eyes rest- 
ed affectionately on the smooth waters of the Black Bay, 
where many a time he had feathered a flashing oar-blade. 
That was in the care-free college days, before 

But as his reflections ended in a spasm of pain which 
hardened the lines about his mouth and knit his brows, he 
was recalled to the present by a half-suppressed cry of 
alarm in a woman’s voice, followed by a somewhat maud- 
lin : 

“Hold on, my beauty. Don’t be too hard on a fellow. 
I wouldn’t harm a hair of your^ pretty head — ’pon my 
soul, I wouldn’t.” 

Maxwell Fenton turned just in time to see a man, with 
the dress and air of a “ sport, ” snatch off the vail of a lady 
who was in the act of shrinking from his brutal though 
jocular assault. That she was a lady, Max saw instantly, 
the gathering twilight yet leaving light enough to distin- 
guish her pure, high-bred face. 

With a bound the athlete gained the scene of action. A 
lightning blow hurled the ruffian to the ground, and an 
iron grip on his collar swung him almost as quickly to his 
feet again. Then a vigorous kick, administered at every 
step, as he was hustled off the bridge and shot on his way, 
completed a well-merited chastisement. 

“Madam,” said Max, with perfect coolness and courtly 
urbanity, returning to where the lady leaned against the 


A 00i)DmS IN ENim 


15 


rail of the bridge, breathlessly watching his whirlwind 
disposal of her assailant, “allow me to express regret at 
the unpleasantness to which you have been subjected, and 
the hope that you have sustained no physical injury.” 

“Oh, no, sir,” replied a voice that thrilled the hearer to 
his heart of hearts ; “I thank you for your interference. 
It was thoughtless in me to attempt to cross the bridge on 
foot at this time ; I should have taken a car ; but — I ” . 

Max Fenton did not know the frenzied anguish with 
which Agatha Malden had fled from the grounds that sur- 
rounded her sister’s stately residence, rushing blindly, 
with only the thought of getting away, toward that little 
back room which, if not deserving the name of home, was 
at least the one spot where she could get away from the 
world. He only saw a face such as he never before be- 
held, save perhaps in dreams, and on it the impress of a 
woe before which even his own great heart-sorrow sank 
into insignificance. 

With a great gentleness, in which heart spoke sympa- 
thy to heart, he interrupted her faltering speech. 

“Yes, I know. It would have been embarrassing to 
meet strangers in a public conveyance. For the same 
reason, will you allow me to hand you to this carriage, 
which I see is unoccupied ?” 

“ Oh, no, ” cried Agatha, quickly. “ If you wish to add 
another real kindness, you will put me in the car that is 
approaching. ” 

With true delicacy. Max yielded compliance, adding, 
gently : 

“ Pardon me ! — you have forgotten to replace your vail. ” 

A warm glow of gratitude went to Agatha Malden’s 
heart. His deep respect for her suffering was shown 
in his kind reminder to screen it from the prying gaze of 
unsympathetic strangers. 

A glance thanked him. Then that face which he was 
never to forget was hidden from his view ; and an instant 
later the woman herself had stepped into the passing car, 
and these two were separated. 

But she bore with her the recollection of his noble face, 
his kingly courtesy, his almost womanly gentleness ; and, 
somehow, it intensified her sense of utter desolation, and 
made the world seem wider and colder. 

As the twilight deepened into darkness. Max Fenton 
stood motionless on the bridge, looking in the direction 
whither the vanishing car seemed to be carrying all the 
brightness with it ; and over his spirit swept a storm of 


M GODDESS IN EXILE. 


le 

rebellious fury, until it seemed as if a cry of pain and de- 
spair must burst through even the iron grip of his locked 
lips. To this succeeded a melancholy so deep that, as he 
turned on his way, his proud head hung upon his breast, 
and his springing step was slow and faltering. 

“This will not do,” he said, presently. “Spartan-like, 
we must hide our wounds. This is but one blow more 
— the-what-might-have-been added to what is !” 

He passed his hand over his face from brow to chin. It 
was as if he had replaced a mask. He was the Max of 
ten minutes ago, with, perhaps, an added line or two of 
hardness. 

So he went to keep his appointment to dine with Horace 
Warwick. 

Perhaps the cordiality of his host was a little more effu- 
sive than was natural, prompted by a certain nervous- 
ness with which he watched his wife. But, whatever may 
have been in her heart, aside from an unwonted pallor. 
May smiled her baby smile, and chatted, if anything, 
more brilliantly than usual. 

No subtle sense warned Max Fenton that this one, 
lapped in luxury, and that one, whose woe-wan face he 
had seen in the twilight on the Long Bridge, were sisters. 

Not this one, but that other, he remembered, when, on 
the following day, he leaned on the guard of an ocean 
bound steamer, while his heart went out, groping he knew 
not where, in the great, noisy city. In all that wilderness 
of brick and stone, where was she ? 

Even as he asked himself the question, his heart gave a 
great bound, and then stood still. A carriage had drawn 
up to the dock, from which a gentleman assisted a lady to 
alight, and then escorted her across the gang-plank. 

Who the gentleman was, what he was like, Max could 
not have told, for he never glanced at him. 

The lady was deeply vailed, so that her features were 
indistinguishable. But that form — that walk ; could he 
be mistaken in them ? Every motion that she had made 
— each nameless grace of attitude, each flowing line of 
contour — was indelibly stamped on his memory. 

When the lady disappeared between decks, he bowed his 
face upon his hands and trembled from head to foot with 
a wild delight and a nameless fear. 

She was in the same vessel with him ! 

He could not keep still with the thought thrilling 
through him in great waves, but began to pace the deck, 
a new buoyancy in his step, a new fire in his eyes. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


17 


In the midst of his feverish elation, he heard a familiar 
voice, crying : 

“What? No ! I’ll be hanged ! — Max ! Why, Max ! my 
dear boy !” 

And a vigorous hand-shaking immediately ensued, with 
almost boisterous heartiness on the part of Lawyer Raw- 
linson ; with genuine cordiality, yet a little abstractedly, 
on the part of Max Fenton, who said : 

“ My dear friend, this is, indeed, a pleasure !” 

“ But not so eagerly sought, it seems, but that you could 
visit the city without calling upon me,” said the other, re- 
proachfully. 

“ Pardon me ! My stay was so brief that I had not time 
to run out to your place. I called at your ofiSce yesterday 
afternoon, but you were out.” 

“Out? Of course I was! And on what errand, think 
you ? Making arrangements to send your mother her ” 

“Mrs. Fenton,” corrected Max, in a tone so hard, so 
icy, that James Rawlinson broke off abruptly, and stared 
at him in blank bewilderment. 

Only for an instant. Then the lawyer dropped back 
into his legal groove. This was not the first family feud 
in his experience. 

“To send Mrs. Fenton her governess,” he concluded, 
but with all the sportiveness gone out of his voice. 

Then a look of appeal came into his eyes, and, as he 
grasped the hand of the younger man, he said, with pa- 
thetic earnestness : 

“ Max, you and I used to be right good friends in the 
old days — better than is common where there is a dis- 
parity of years. For my sake, my boy, I want you to look 
after this lady. She is a lady, in the highest and truest 
sense of the word, whom the world has used hard. Max — 
dused hard I” 

Just then Max Fenton’s heart went out with an unwont- 
ed tenderness toward all women whom “ the world had 
used hard,” as he returned the earnest pressure of his 
friends’ clasp, saying : 

“ Of course you can rely on me.” 

But there was no time for further words. The boat was 
ready to put off. 

“ I’ll just give you a line of introduction,” said the law- 
yer, tearing a leaf from his note-book. 

“As Mr. Maxwell, if you please,” said Max. 

Then, as the lawyer stared at him, he explained, in 


18 A OODDESS IN EXitE. 

cold, measured tones, and with a stony look that forbade 
further inquiry : 

“ As I do not intend to call upon Mrs. Fenton, you will 
understand that I might not wish to have my name car- 
ried to her on the lips of her governess. ” 

And the lawyer replied, a little constrainedly : 

“ Of course it’s all right. Max. I know you well enough 
to know ” 

“ That you can trust me without an appeal to my honor, 
even by implication,” concluded the other, with a hauteur 
that well became him. 

“Of course. Max,” said the lawyer, and hastily wrote : 

“Have found in Mr. Maxwell an old friend, and put you 
in his charge. A gentleman in every sense. Trust him 
to any extent. Boat just leaving.” 

And these words which read like a telegraphic dispatch, 
were to bridge the moat of conventionality which custom 
placed between these two natures, already akin. Not 
suspecting their vast importance to him — ah, they were 
golden words, destined to live forever in two memories 
— Max inclosed them in a polite note, expressing regret at 
Miss Malden’s indisposition, and the hope that she might 
soon be able to accord him an interview. 

Having dispatched this, and crossed the palm of the 
stewardess with gold, to the end that the lady’s comfort 
might be especially looked after, it must be confessed that 
Max forgot all about “Miss Malden,” in nis absorbing 
quest of the woman who was fast becoming the only 
woman in the w,orld to him. 

But when day after day passed and he failed to discover 
her, his heart sunk with a sickening dread. Had he 
been deceived ? His only hope and fear were that she 
might be among the number of ladies who were confined 
to their state-rooms by sea-sickness. 

Then came a time when he who had haunted the ladies’ 
cabin with far different thoughts was made the recipient 
of the daintiest of notes from that Miss Malden, in whom 
he felt a kindly interest, yet to an interview with whom he 
betook himself with, truth to tell, no great enthusiasm. 

But suddenly his heart leaped into his throat. There 
sat she of whom his thoughts had not been free since that 
first moment of meeting. As he appeared, she rose to her 
feet, suddenly grown as pale as death. 

In her presence “ Miss Malden” was forgotten. At the 
risk of discourtesy to the lady who had summoned him, 


A GODDESS JJV EXILE. 19 

he advanced at once to this one whom he had so longed to 
meet. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, in his kindly way. “Will 
the circumstance of our first meeting and the less strin- 
gent amenities of shipboard justify me in waiving conven- 
tionalities, and saying that I am glad to see you again ?” 

But, even as he spoke, he caught sight of an envelope 
which she held in her hand ; and before she could recover 
from her agitation at seeing one whose path of life she had 
expected never to cross again, he resumed, stammering 
wretchedly : 

“Pray, pardon me ; but I — I see in your possession a 
note which I myself addressed to a Miss Malden— with 
whorn, indeed, I have come to keep an appointment. 

“ I am Miss Malden. And you — you are — Mr. Maxwell ?” 

They looked into each other’s eyes, and both flushed 
with embarrassment. 

Miss Malden smiled faintly. 

“We are at cross-purposes, it seems,” she said. 

There was no responsive smile on Max’s face. A thrill 
of pain forbade any sense of humor. She was going there I 
But what of it ? He had no right to stop her. 

“Yes,” he replied ; and then, abruptly : “Shall I escort 
you on deck ?” 

For it seemed as if the confinement of the cabin would 
stifle him. 

Wondering at his mood, she yielded herself to his guid- 
ance. 

So, for well or ill, these two had come together ! 

To Max Fenton that sea-voyage was a dream of ecstasy 
overshadowed by a cloud of black despair. To Agatha 
Malden, also, it was a season of rare delight, embittered 
by a pain so poignant that, by contrast, it seemed as if she 
had never before known the real meaning of suffering. 

When they were together, the lowering future sank 
below the horizon, leaving them the calm, blissful pres- 
ent ; but when apart, its black menace loomed to the 
zenith. 

Alone, in the night, on the storm-swept deck. Max 
looked with hopeless eyes on a barrier that was the more 
adamantine in proportion as his love was pure and true. 

Face downward in her berth, Agatha shrank from a 
gulf across which she might gaze on this man who 
answered every need of her being, but never, never clasp 
hands. 


20 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


And this, though neither knew aught of the other be- 
yond that little space while their life -paths had run side 
by side, so soon — ah ! so fatally soon — to diverge again. 

Max resolved to break the spell at Mobile ; but at the 
last moment his heart failed him, and he accompanied her 
on board a small coaster, which would let her off at Bi- 
loxi. 

Then, almost within sight of her destination, fate 
rushed down upon them in a sudden storm, which con- 
verted the green waters of the gulf into wrathful bil- 
lows ; and the skipper and his sable crew gazed upon a 
lee shore, and saw death awaiting them in a line of reefs 

( that bordered the low-lying coast with a fringe of yeasty 
foam. 

Leaving Agatha lashed to a mast, to guard against her 
being thrown from her feet and perhaps washed overboard 
during his absence. Max went, under the direction of the 
skipper, to a certain store-room, where he found the only 
life-preserver the lax management of the boat afforded ; 
and there, through a crevice which the straining of the 
vessel made in the partition, he gazed upon a scene, and 
overheard the details of a plot whose diabolical atrocity 
froze his blood with horror, until righteous wrath fired it 
to a coursing tide of lava. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


21 


CHAPTER HI. 

THE DOUBLE. 

And now perhaps we have too long delayed the intro- 
duction of a personage, so subtle, so self-complacent, that 
he played, con amore^ a farce in which he cozened the 
whole world — a farce to which he alone held the key, at 
which he alone laughed. 

By the world this man was carelessly labeled “Per- 
kins,” and merged in the crowd of nonentities; by him- 
self he was distinguished as “the plausible Perkins,” while 
he regarded the rest of mankind as his “ gulls. ” 

In order to sustain the opposed characters of actor and 
auditor, it was his habit to stand before a mirror, and 
while stroking his smoothly shaven chin and carefully 
trimmed “mutton-chop” whiskers, to recite his comedy to 
himself. 

“ Ha, ha ! By jove, me boy ! it’s the hamusement of 
kings and caliphs to go about hincog — ’ide their light hun- 
der a bushel, so to speak. The bloody crowd don’t recog- 
nize the diplomat, the hintriguant, in Perkins, Mr. Max 
Fenton’s valet, don’t they? You’re too plausible for ’em, 
are you? — you sly rascal !. You don’t let the puppets see 
the wires with w’ich you pulls ’em — not you. But you’ll 
give ’em a blarsted heye-opener one o’ these fine days — ' 
eh, me plausible Perkins ? 

“Now, ’ere’s this Max Fenton, as is a gentleman, hevery 
hinch of ’im ; ’and thar’s that Max Fenton, as is a bloom- 
in’ scoundrel and jail-bird, hevery hinch of ’im ; and 
you’re hindiwidual, my plausible Perkins, ’ose genius is 
to transmogrify that Max into this Max. There bought 
to be a thousand poun’ in such a job as that. A thousand 
poun’ ? Ten thousand, more belike, or a ’undred thousand 
— ’oo knows ? 

“What, my plausible Perkins, my swell Perkins — what, 
me boy — will you snub your old friend, the valet, w’en 
you piles on the hagony ? You’ll call ’is ’ighness ‘Princy,’ 
will you? And w’en ’e inwites you to dine with the 
royal family, you’ll send your regrets, like that swell 
painter, and that bloody Yankee showman, Barnum. 


22 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


“ ’Ere’s a hitem in the Court Journal — ‘ Scandal links 
the name of the Hon. Halgernon Perkins, M. P., with 
that of ’er grace, the Duchess of 

But this rose-tinted forecasting of the future was ab- 
ruptly cut short by the sound of some one whistling a 
popular air. 

“Eh? That’s the scoundrel Max.” 

Instantly on the alert, the plausible Perkins sauntered 
out of his master’s state-room to discover a man walking 
slowly down the saloon, dragging his cane after him, held 
in his hands clasped at his back. He was dressed like an 
English traveler, and had abundant, rather curly, blonde 
hair, and bushy red whiskers. He seemed absorbed in 
deep thought, certainly oblivious to Max Fenton’s valet, 
who, in turn, took no apparent notice of him. 

Nevertheless, ten minutes later they were closeted to- 
gether in the state-room of the former. 

“Well,” said the stranger, “you have completed your 
task ?” 

“Look for yourself, sir. It’s down to this very day.” 

And Max Fenton’s valet handed to the stranger a copy 
of the last pages of his master’s diary, and also a tran- 
script of Agatha’s note summoning Max to an interview, 
in whicii her graceful chirography was so perfectly imi- 
tated that the lady herself might have been deceived by 
the forgery. 

“This is admirable!” cried the stranger, enthusias- 
tically, as he critically examined the note. “ You sling a 
dangerous quill. You will be ' invaluable to me when the 
time comes.” 

“I ’opes to be, sir,” replied the plausible Perkins, with 
all the humility of a valet who was nothing more than a 
valet. But within himself he said : 

“ I’ll see you ’ang, w’en I’ve got my divvy out o’ this 
thing. Brush the coat of a blarsted convict ! More belike 
you’ll brush my coat, and my boots, too, my covey !” 

But the fugitive convict, unconscious of the disloyal 
sentiments of one whom he regarded as his tool, was 
glancing over the stolen diary, in which something evi- 
dently stirred his bile ; for between his teeth he growled : 

“Loves her! Well, I love her, too. And am I — the 
rightful heir, by Heaven — to be superseded by him in 
everything ? He is Max Fenton, the heir of a proud name 
and ancestral estates, while I, the elder born, am the 
nameless, the portionless Max, because his mother was a 
lady, alliance with whom was an honor to any man, while 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


23 


my mother was a beautiful nobody, to deceive whom was 
accounted a ‘levity,’ not an infamy, in our common 
father. Curse him, I say, and the caste that condoned his 
villainy ! And the world that scoffed at and spat upon 
my birth and left me to struggle with poverty, meted out 
a convict’s chain because I trusted to my wits for reprisals. 

“Well, I escaped; and then this oily knave, Perkins, 
found me out, like a good genius, and put me on this 
scheme, which promises to reinstate me in rights the laws 
denied. 

“ And if I supplant him” — and now the pulses of the 
plotter began to quicken — “it will be in everything — her 
love along with the rest. Ah, this is the sweetest morsel 
of all. But can I impose on a woman’s love even when 
she has known him for so short a time ? If I can, I need 
not fear the rest of the world. 

“Perkins,” and coming out of his reverie, he turned 
toward the waiting valet, “ can I blind her love ? That is 
to be the first and most difficult task.” 

As he spoke he drew a wig and whiskers from his head 
and face. The transformation was startling. It was as if 
Max Fenton had been conjured on the spot by magic. 

“ ’Eavens, sir !” exclaimed Perkins, “heven I am almost 
afraid that you be indeed my master. The wery devil is 
in it. I’d wager ’igh that, if you two was compared, 
hinch by hinch, the only difference to be found between 
you would be your lacking the little toe, sir.” 

This was said with the greatest simplicity by the plausi- 
ble Perkins, though, he chuckled inwardly : 

“ Got ye that time— eh, my boy ?” 

Evidently he had “ got” the convict Max ; for at this 
reference, which called to mind a certain proclamation 
in which this was one of the specifications, and in conse- 
quence of which the subject of that State paper now 
wore a wax toe that would defy casual observation, the 
plotter frowned with black displeasure, and said : 

“ It may prove to your advantage to forget all about 
that toe, my friend.” . 

“I begs— hindeed, sir, I begs your pardon,” apologized 
the plausible Perkins, with seeming sincerity,“I meant 
just nothink at all— I ’opes you’ll believe me, sir.” 

“Never mind that, sir. Let us consider something of 
vastly greater importance. I am his exact counterpart. 

“ You are, indeed, sir.” , 

“I must learn his walk, his gestures— everything. By 
Heaven 1 when I have deceived all the world-— her in- 


24 


A' GODDESS IN EXILE, 


eluded, I will not rest until I have deceived myself, and 
blotted from my recollection all the miserable, infamous 
past.” 

He tried to recall and produce Max’s movements ; but 
Perkins stopped him. 

“Don’t give that just no thought at all, sir,” he advised. 
“ You’re perfect as you are. You spoil it w’en you try to 
put it on. You’ve both caught the same tricks from your 
father, by inheritance, sir. ” 

And it was true. Save that one was all that is noble, 
and one the embodiment of vice, these two men might 
have stood one for the other. 

Down the Atlantic and round the Keys, into the Gulf of 
Mexico, convict Max lay in hiding, like some lurking 
devil-fish. Then, within sight of their destination, came 
his opportunity. 

In that moment the faithless valet was not with his 
master, but with his accomplice in meditated crime. By 
his assistance convict Max had dressed himself in cloth- 
ing stolen from his intended victim. His underwear, even 
his handkerchief, bore Max Fenton’s name. 

“It is perfect,” he cried, exultantly. “My sweet Agatha 
will give me her love, and never detect the exchange But 
to guard against mistake, you must know me. I have no 
fancy to have you knock me in the head, because my get- 
up is so perfect as to deceive even you, who are fore- 
warned. See, this bit of yellow ribbon, from a bunch of 
cigars, tied in my button-hole, shall be the mark by which 
you will know me. Now, go to your post. I will follow 
you as soon as the gloom deepens. When that gloom lifts 
once more, I must be in his place, and he — Go, go. ” 

But the cautious as well as plausible Perkins paused to 
say: 

“You seem to ’ave misappre’ended, sir. If I makes 
bold to set you right, I ’opes you’ll believe, sir, as it’s 
honly as there’ll be no balk. But you’ll remember, sir, as 
I never guaranteed to do nothink that would put me in the 
grip of the law. Of course, sir, you’ve prepared to do 
your own ” 

“Murdering? Yes. Now go.” 

And Perkins went, reflecting : 

“That makes ’im my cat’s-paw, instead of me being 
’is — w’ich makes hall the difference of ’oo’s to ’ang, if 
there’s a balk in this thing. But, of course, you don’t 
put it that way to ’im— oh, no, my plausible Perkins” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 25 

Left alone, convict Max fell to rioting in mad exulta- 
tion. 

“His wealth and honor among men, all crowned by her 
peerless love. Ah, I shall be in heaven.” 

“Never.” 

The voice broke upon his wild dream like the fiat of 
doom. The real Max and the would-be Max stood face to 
face. 

What trick of fickle fortune had torn the vail from his 
black plot at the very moment of its consummation, the 
impostor did not know, nor was there time for idle specu- 
lation on that point. That all was discovered, he saw in 
Max Fenton’s face. 

There was but one thing to do — to rob Max Fenton of his 
life and identity , then and there — to spring at a single 
bound over his dead body into his place in life. Both men 
realized this though at the same instant. 

Without a word — without a sound — the murderer took 
that leap. And these brothers, so much alike that it was 
as if one rushed upon his reflection in a mirror, met 
in a life-and-death grapple. 

And out on the deck of that storm-driven vessel Agatha 
Malden, as blameless as she was unfortunate, awaited — 
great Heaven ! — which ? 


26 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


CHAPTER IV. 

A DEADLY ANTAGONIST. 

In that struggle, as brief, as terrible, as the typhoon, 
God’s justice won — a woman’s innocence and purity tri- 
umphed. The true Max held the false Max by the throat, 
with his knee on his breast. 

Then that whirlwind madness passed. This man, mon- 
ster, fiend, was yet his brother. 

Relaxing his grip from the throat of the suffocating 
wretch, he said : 

“ I do not seek to be your executioner. God knows, 
your wrongs may be something in extenuation of your 
wickedness. See ! as far as is possible I will atone our 
father’s fault. If we both escape the peril of shipwreck, I 
will give you freely half of all I possess, which will place 
you beyond the temptation of such a crime as you have 
meditated. 

“ But for her against whom you would have wrought 
this wrong without a parallel, I must have security. 
Swear to me, by the life I give you, by the memory of 
your mother, by all that you hold sacred in this world 
and the next, that you will fo'rever forego all thoughts of 
harm to her through your resemblance to me. Swear, 
and I give you life and wealth unstained by blood.” 

“Max, my brother,” said the other, with cunningly 
feigned contrition, “I don’t deserve such magnanimity. I 
do swear, by my forfeited life, by my mother, and by all 
that I hold sacred in this world and the next, never to lift 
my hand against you or her again !” 

“Enough, Let us be at peace,” said he, whose noble 
nature harbored no trace of malice. 

Released, eonvict Max rose to his feet, looking hum- 
bled, but in his heart of base ingratitude only awaiting 
an opportunity to spring upon his conqueror unawares, 
slay him, and persist in his execrable plot. 

“And now,” pursued our hero, “while I do not wish to 
needlessly jeopardize your life, I must guard against the 
treachery of this reptile, Perkins. To this end I must 
personate you, and lead him to think that we have met 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


27 


and I have been slain. It will, therefore, be necessary 
for you to remain here until ^the last moment, and, when 
you come on deck, to mingle with the sailors, so that he 
cannot recognize you.. I will take possession of this pis- 
tol” — picking up the weapon which he had wrested from 
the grasp of his would-be assassin — “and two rapid shots 
will be the signal for you to come on deck, and save your- 
self, if you can. Do you agree to this ?” 

And, with seeming sincerity, convict Max replied : 

“ Gladly. It is far better treatment than I deserve.” 

Meanwhile, the plausible Perkins had gone on deck to 
reconnoiter, and seeing Agatha alone, hastened to her, 
crying, with the oiliest solicitude ; 

“W’ere — w’ere is Max ?” 

“ He has gone into the cabin in search of a life-pre- 
server,” cried Agatha, forced to raise her voice to the 
highest pitch to be heard amid the roar of the elements — 
the shrieking wind, the dashing billows, the creaking of 
spars, and the groans of the laboring vessel. 

“Thank ’Eaven, miss,” said the plausible Perkins; “but 
my ’eart misgave me w’en I saw ’e was not with you, 
miss. But ’e may need ’elp. ITl go to ’im, miss, if you’ll 
not be needing me, or are not afraid to stay alone.” 

“Oh, no ; I am not afraid,” replied Agatha. 

“We’re hall in the 'ands of ’Eaven, miss,” was the rev- 
erent assurance of the plausible Perkins. 

How different were his thoughts. 

“In the cabin. ’Oo ever would ’ave looked for such a 
chance ! We pounce upon ’im and put ’im out of the 
way, and hour Max steps into ’is shoes, and nobody the 
wiser. The vessel goes down with all traces. For the 
matter of that, we can pitch ’im hoverboard, w’en ’e’s 
quieted.” 

With this murderous purpose, the false valet hastened 
below to inform his accomplice of the rare opportunity. 

But just as he was about to enter the cabin, a man, in 
a seeming frenzy of excitement, with a pistol in his hand, 
and his torn clothes showing that he had been engaged in 
a fierce struggle, rushed out of it, banging the door after 
him, as if to shut in some ghastly horror. 

“Great ’eavens,” thought the treacherous Perkins, fall- 
ing into the snare, “’e’s got a’ead of me, and the job’s 
done.” 

“Back, back,” shouted Max, springing upon his valet 
with the fury of a wild beast. “ Dare to enter there, and 
I will kill you. I’ll have no spies. Do you understand ? 


28 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


I’ll have no spies. You have seen nothing — you suspect 
nothing Let that tongue of yours wag, and I’ll tear it 
out by the roots. You are vermin. Dare to turn upon 
me, and I’ll crush you beneath my heel. Away, away. 
Do not prolong tlie temptation to forestall the chance of 
your treachery, and put you beyond the power of harm- 
doing.” 

Max Fenton was an actor of no mean ability. Besides, 
his intense loathing for the crawling thing before him lent 
a terrible strength to his passion. In that moment he 
looked the character he had assumed — that of a murderer 
fresh from the horror of his awful deed, afraid of his ac- 
complice, afraid of himself, afraid of the very inanimate 
objects that had witnessed his crime, but worst of all, 
afraid of that ghastly thing which all the blackness of an 
eternal night could not hide from the sight of Heaven. 

Perkins was thoroughly terrified. He saw the incal- 
culable advantage of covering a crime by adding to the 
first victim the only witness. Realizing that he might 
have done just the thing, he thought that he stood in the 
presence of death. But when he would have fled madly 
to the protection of the crew on the deck above, Max 
Fenton’s hand fell upon his shoulder. 

With a wail of abject fear, the cowardly wretch fell 
upon his knees. 

“’Old on, sir — ’old on,” he cried, piteously. “Don’t 
murder me. Remember, I put you hup to this thing. 
W’y ever shall ! split on you, sir? You know I wouldn’t. 
Ain’t it as much to my hinterest, sir ” 

But, despising his cowardice, as he detested his treach- 
ery, Max dragged the paltry rascal to his feet, shaking 
him as he might a cur that he held by the nape of the 
neck. 

“ Do you think I would stoop to retaliate on so misera- 
ble a scrub as you ?” he asked, for a moment forgetting 
his assumed character in the recollection that this crying 
hound had dared to plot against his life. 

But Perkins was in no condition to weigh the signifi- 
cance of words to a nicety. He only realized that he was 
not to be killed, as Max commanded : 

“ Go on before me ; stand where I indicate, with your 
back in this direction ; and do not dare to look round.” 

Agatha’s look of eager expectancy and perfect trust, as 
he approached her, drove all save gentle thoughts from 
Max’s mind. Ah ! the delight of securing about her body 
the cork jacket that was to give her prolonged life. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


29 


“ But you ?” she said, looking anxiously into his face. 
“You have but one.” 

“ It is the only one on the boat, ” said Max, quietly. 

At that she caught his arm with a frightened clutch, 
unconsciously drawing so close to him that he could feel 
the rise and fall of her fluttering breast, and so read his 
face with troubled eyes, while she cast about for some ex- 
pedient which would lessen his danger. 

“Can’t you fasten yourself to me?” she asked, “so that 
it will support us both ?” 

Max liked that better than if she had offered to give up 
the jacket to him. It seemed to say : 

“ Let us live or die together. ” 

What Agatha actually felt, in a vague way, was that it 
would be so cold lying dead in the bottom of the sea 
without Max, while . the thought of Max’s drowning was 
equally intolerable. 

He smiled encouragingly, as he said : 

“ You forget that I am a man, and a famous swimmer, I 
assure you. Besides, everybody knows that it is much 
easier to float in salt water than in fresh. ” 

And the necessity of sustaining her so that she might 
not be thrown from her feet and washed into the sea pre 
senting an excuse for holding her close to his side in a 
half-emrbace, he put his arm about her protectingly. 

He looked so calm, so confident — how could she read the 
subtle sophistry of his reply ? He, so strong, so courage- 
ous, could surely master those dangers that made her 
woman’s heart quail. And when he gazed into her face 
and asked : 

“ Are you afraid ?” 

From where she nestled within the circle of his arm, she 
replied : 

“ No — I scarcely know — not altogether. ” 

The last was a truthful answer. With him she could 
not fear utterly. 

At that moment the captain of the doomed craft made 
his way to Max’s side, his face pale with apprehension, 
his beard dripping brine. 

“We can do nothing here, sir,” he said, deriving some 
sense of security from the vicinity of a brave man. “But 
do you see ? — they are putting out a boat from the shore. ” 

“Yes,” replied Max. “It may live inside the reef, but 
would be swamped instantly in this sea.” 

“That’s so,” assented the captain, and then went on to 
explain to Agatha: “A sound boat, ma’am, even if ours 


30 


A GODDESS m EXILE. 


wasn’t stove in, would be of no sort of use to us out here. 
If any of us cross the reef alive, that may be a chance. ” 

Nearer and nearer they drew, until Max, to the wonder 
of all, fired two, shots in rapid succession, and then threw 
the weapon into the sea. Perkins looked round from 
where he was stationed ; but a stern look from Max caused 
him to turn again in the direction commanded, so he did 
not see a figure glide from the cabin and g-aze with ghastly 
fear about on that scene of gloomy sublimity. 

“ ’E’s a ’ot one,” mused the valet. “ It won’t do to cross 
’m just now, w’ile the blood-frenzy’s on ’im. Gads ! I 
thought ’e’d heat me, ’ide and tallow, w’en’e grabbed me. 
Just now it’s your game to ’umor ’im — be plausible, Per- 
kins, me boy ! But w’en the time comes to put on the 
thumb-screws, ’e’ll jig to another tune. 

“ But ’ow that young woman swallowed ’im, with no 
questions asked. She’s as ready to heat ’im up as she was 
with the bother Max. This hinstinct notion is all gammon 
— that’s w’at I say. Beauty’s skin deep.” 

All these thoughts came in a flash amid the terror of 
that moment, while the vessel forged ahead until the foam 
of the reef was just under her bows. Then a mighty bil- 
low lifted the frail craft heavenward. 

“ Look out !” shouted the captain. 

“Now,” continued Max, as he tightened his grip on 
Agatha and braced himself for the expected shock. 

Then the waters seemed to drop from under the vessel, 
and it came down upon the jagged rock with a terrible 
concussion. 

There was a riving of timbers, as the stanch ribs were 
crushed in, and the masts went by the board like trees 
snapped at their base, blended with the swash of the 
waters as they receded from the black rocks, leaving the 
vessel high and dry. 

Agatha, not by her own strength, was still on her feet. 
She heard the captain shout : 

“ If this wave lifts us, we may go clean over. That’s 
why I turned her bows on. Great Heaven, it’s all up.” 

Though almost blinded by the driving spray, she caught 
sight of a green, translucent billow rearing its jagged 
crest of foam far above her head. 

The thought came to her that in its cold embrace lay 
death— with him, added her heart, and the agony of mor- 
tal dread was robbed of half its poignancy. 

But, mingled with the cries of despair which the crew 
sent up, she caught from Max some inarticulate sounds, 


\A GODDESS n EllLE. 

the meaning of which the winds snatched from her ear. 
Then, amid the accumulated horrors of that awful mo- 
ment, her soul was thrilled and filled with a divine 
ecstasy. She felt Max’s lips close upon hers. 

All her soul went out to him in a responsive caress, 
as she clung to him, feeling that it was the first and last 
on earth. But that moment of elysian delight repaid all 
the torture of her past life. 

So, in the presence of death, these two acknowledged a 
love which at such a time might be permitted without dis- 
honor. Then the world of waters fell upon them, as if out 
of heaven, bearing them down— down into that seething 
caldron whose black caverns hide unsightly shapes never 
given to the air and light of day. 

To Max Fenton this moment was a delirium of agony 
and bliss. Here, in the bosom of the deep, she was his 
forever. Up yonder, in the garish sunlight, man’s law 
would dig anew the pit which yawned between them. But 
dared he thus sacrifice the morning of her life to his self- 
ish love ? This it was that made the heaven and hell of 
that moment of possession when possession meant immo- 
lation, in intent, if not in fact. 

While his soul was torn in this conflict, all things tan- 
gible were Slipping from his consciousness, when he felt a 
sudden shock. The next moment he had blindly grasped 
the gunwale of a boat, and felt that Agatha was lifted out 
of his arms, up from death into life. 

While coughing the strangling water from his throat, he 
swung the hair out of his eyes and gazed upward — up 
into a swarthy Spanish face, lighted by burning black 
eyes — an evil face — a cruel face — a face which at sight of 
him turned a sickly yellow with fear. 

Then over Max Fenton’s soul rushed a storm of bitter 
hatred, up-rooting the flowers of gladness which had 
bloomed in his heart over her restoration to life, and leav- 
ing all blackened and blasted ; and shouting through his 
clenched teeth : 

“ Saved by you ? Never !” 

He let go his hold on the boat, spurning it from him as 
a thing accursed. A toppling wave-crest broke greedily 
over his head, and he slipped back again into the chill 
embrace of the swirling waters — down — down — out of the 
sight of these who gazed, appalled. 


32 


A Q0DDE88 W EXILE. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HOUSE AND ITS HORRORS. 

The news that a ship was in the offing, with her sails 
blown to ribbons, running bows on to the reef, spread 
rapidly along the coast, and some distance inland ; and 
several planters soon appeared on horseback, riding to 
the scene of disaster, followed by a number of slaves on 
foot. 

Foremost of these was a man of small, lithe frame, 
whose ebon hair, dark complexion, and piercing black 
eyes told of Spanish blood. In his strong excitement he 
goaded his horse with Spanish mercilessness ; and there 
was that in the tremulous lifting of his upper lip, disclos- 
ing his teeth, which seemed to denote cruelty and craft as 
the leading traits of his character. 

“Here, Pomp — Caesar— dogs, ” he cried, as he threw 
himself from the back of his panting horse — “do you 
wait for the lash ? Run this boat into the water. Caram* 
ba — shall they die while you loiter ?” 

In truth, the negroes were making all haste, and only 
the impetuous intolerance of this man could have found 
fault with them. 

Even as, holding the boat by either gunwale, they slid 
it rapidly over the sand, Don Felipe Carrira leaped in, 
calling upon the men whom he chose to accompany him. 

Out into the surf they ran with it, but a giant wave rolled 
boat and men over and over in a confused mass on the 
beach. Drenched with brine, they scrambled to their 
feet and sought to save the scattered oars and thwarts. 

Again and again they charged the sea, that seemed to 
battle hand to hand with those who would rob it of its 
prey, until at last they conquered and were afloat, the 
long oars bent by lusty arms. 

Still the struggle went on against that whistling, howl- 
ing, shrieking wind, and the set of the surface water 
toward the shore, but at last, with the water swashing 
from end to end in the bottom of their boat, they neared 
the reef. 

Keeping far enough back from the rocks to avoid the 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


35 


treacherous currents, they waited until the vessel crashed 
to her doom. Then succeeded moments of awful sus- 
pense. 

At last, through the gathering shadows, Don Felipe 
espied an object. 

“Give way, give way !” he shouted. ‘‘Carajo— are we 
stocks ? are we stones ? Dogs, to your work. ” 

He rose to his feet as he steered the boat. His eyes 
seemed fairly scintillant. His contorted, working features 
gave him a savage, wolfish look. 

“Hah, rest,” he fairly shrieked, as the boat glided up 
to the object and bumped against it with a dull thud, and 
dropping his steering oar, he reached over the side. 

At the same instant a strong hand seized the gunwale, 
and a head rose from the water. With a shake like that 
of some marine animal, the hair was tossed from the 
staring eyes, and the drowning man coughed the water 
from his mouth and nose. 

But plainly his first thought was not of himself, for on 
his other arm he feebly lifted the limp form of an uncon- 
scious woman. 

He, with his wild face, inspired the beholder with ter- 
ror, but she, with her bloodless cheek, her blue lips, her 
closed eyelids, her golden hair dripping brine, was only 
beautiful, pitiful in her utter helplessness. 

The stalwart Pomp sprang to Don Felipe’s assistance, 
and she was drarm over the side into the boat. The Span- 
iard next grasped the drowning man by the shoulder. 
Their eyes met. Then was enacted the scene which left all 
who witnessed it paralyzed with horror. 

Don Felipe shrank cowering in the bottom of the boat — 
at the mere recognition of Max or horrified by his mad 
act ? The negroes let their oars hang loose in the thole- 
pins, leaving the boat the sport of the wind, to the peril 
of all, while Pomp sprang to his feet and shouted wildly : 

“ Dat was Massa Max. Don’t you ’cognize him ? He’s 
down dah — drowndin’.” 

And the devoted fellow would have leaped overboard to 
the rescue of the master he had loved from a child, but 
that Don Felipe burst the spell of horror that bound him 
and thundered : 

“ Sit down. To your oars, dogs. Mil diablos, we shall 
be swamped.” ' 

Narrowly the greater peril was avoided, but the boat 
shipped a heavy sea, so that they were forced to abandon 
further search, and indeed, taxed to the utmost with the 


34 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


management of his water-logged boat, Don Felipe could 
do nothing for the relief of Agatha, who lay half-sub- 
merged in the swashing water. 

But another agency also held him aloof from her. 

“Who is she? What was she to him?” he muttered, 
an icy shudder running through him. “Was he bringing 
her here, and why ? Can he have had recourse to that 
heretic’s device, and brought this one to supplant that 
other ? Bah — he could not so defy all decency. And we 
must have heard. No, they may be only fellow-voyagers.” 

The thought seemed to afford him relief, and his brow 
cleared. 

Then the almost angelic beauty of that piteous face ap- 
pealed to him, and he resumed : 

“ Santa Maria, she is divine. She might win a colder 
heart than his to any act of madness. ” 

And even in the midst of threatening death Don Felipe 
felt his pulses quicken. 

But first another consideration claimed his attention. 

With his black eyes hashing their sternest, and his voice 
ringing with merciless resolve, he addressed the oarsmen, 
all of whom were the clans of his will. 

“ I wish you to understand one thing,” he said. “ There 
must be no blabbing of what has happened out here. The 
lady was found fioating — do you understand ? supported 
by the life-preserver which you see about her. The one 
who forgets this will have his tongue cut out, and be 
lashed every day for a year. ” 

The slaves shuddered, and dropped their eyes before 
his tigerish gaze. None doubted that he would make 
good his savage threat. 

Meanwhile the wildest excitement prevailed on the 
beach. The strongest and most courageous negroes were 
selected, and ropes tied about their waists, by means 
of which they might be saved from the undertow, if 
thrown from their feet. These, as the laboring boat 
neared the breakers, rushed into the surf to receive it. 

But, while yet beyond their reach, a toppling wave- 
crest filled it ; and its freight was left at the mercy of the 
sea. 

As the boat settled under him, Don Felipe rose to his 
feet, and would have lifted the unconscious form of 
Agatha Malden ; but Pomp, a giant in strength, a lion in 
courage, and equally at home in the water and on the 
land, anticipated him, lifted the limp body, and leaped 
with it clear of the boat and its struggling crew. 


A 0 ODD ESS IN EXILE. 


35 


A moment later, a confused medley of men, oars, and 
boat was rolled over and over in the tumbling surf, from 
which Pomb emerged without assistance bearing his 
brine- dripping burden reverently and tenderly, as he re- 
jected : 

“Massa Max had her last. Reckon, now, he must ’a’ 
lubbed her, kase he stuck to her like a good ’un. Poor 
Massa Max — he done gone drowned right hyer befo’ his 
own do’. But de Lo’d knows best. P’r’aps he won’t hab 
so much sufferin’ an’ sorror down dah, as he would ef he 
come home. T’ings ain’t like dey used to was ’fo’ ole 
massa brung de new missus.” 

Don Felipe immediately dispatched two of his slaves on 
horseback in difiierent directions, and then addressed him- 
eself to Agatha’s resuscitation with such zeal as to crowd 
out several planters, with whose presence he would gladly 
have dispensed altogether. 

“I maybe nursing an interloper who will turn us all 
out of doors,” he reflected. “ But while there is an uncer- 
tainty — well, we may as well keep her to ourselves. 
White witnesses are always troublesome.” 

So when Agatha began to show tardy signs of returning 
consciousness, he bent over her, and the moment she 
could understand him, said : 

“ Hush, you must not speak. You are among friends 
who will see that you have every care. A doctor has been 
sent for and will be here in a moment.” 

But her eyes spoke an earnest appeal, and her lips tried 
to frame the question : 

“And was he saved?” 

Only a whispering sound came forth. She was too 
weak for speech. 

A few minutes later a family carriage containing a mat- 
tress, pillows, and wraps rolled out on the sands ; and 
from the direction of Biloxi appeared a horseman, spurring 
along the shore. 

Dr. Reinhardt was a German, as his name suggested, 
choleric in temper, obese in build, and rather slovenly in 
dress, the snuff on his mustache and the blue handker- 
chief hanging from the skirt pocket of his coat indicating 
one of his vices, as his rubicund complexion betrayed an- 
other. For the rest, his little pig-like eyes bespoke any- 
thing but the confidence of the beholder. 

Puffing and blowing like a grampus, he lowered himself 
to the ground, sighing : 

“Ah mine frient, de saddle is of de inquisition. But vat 


36 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


haf ve here? Senor Carrira, your messenger has told 
me of your heroism already.” 

“ But the lady ?” urged Don Felipe, with becoming mod- 
esty. 

“Shall be placed in de carriage,” replied the doctor, his 
momentary feeling of Agatha’s pulse being evidently only 
mechanical. “You haf my service here forestall. In de 
house I make her more comfort. ” 

As his puffy fingers came in contact with her wrist an 
involuntay shudder ran through Agatha’s frame. She 
had never met a more repulsive man. 

She was glad that he had no part in lifting her into the 
carriage. Then she lay among the pillows, soothed rather 
than disturbed by the gentle swaying of the carriage as it 
moved slowly forward. 

By this time night had succeeded day. On the shore 
were bonfires, and men patrolling the beach with fiaming 
torches. 

The carriage lamps were lighted, but were scarcely 
needed, until the way at some distance from the coast 
entered a wood, which the moon, appearing through the 
scudding storm-rack, did not always penetrate. Here the 
dense gloom, and the trees writhing like living things in 
torture, added to the terrors that had taken possession of 
Agatha. 

Borne hopelessly away, whither she knew not, by these 
two men, both of whom had, in different ways, filled her 
with shuddering apprehension of what lay before her. 

Her unstrung nerves goaded her fancy to picture a 
thousand vague terrors. 

By and by the carriage drew up before a large dark 
house, embowered in trees. As far as she could make out 
the dim outlines, it seemed to Agatha to be a great ram- 
bling ruin. Within the narrow illumination of the car-» 
riage lamps she could see a stone door- way, with vines 
swaying in the wind. 

In all the gloomy facade there was not one illuminated 
window. Only when the door swung open, it revealed 
an old negress, with a kerchief crossed over her ample 
bosom, and another on her head in the form of a turban, 
screening the fiame of a small lamb from the wind with 
her hand, and peering over it out into the darkness. 

Agatha was lifted from the carriage, and borne along 
echoing corridors to a chamber, wide and high, whose 
wainscoted walls seemed to absorb the dim lamplight, and 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


37 


here laid upon an immense canopied bed, the very 
antiquity of which suggested ghostly things. 

The same old negress whose wrinkled face had greeted 
her at the door, now held a cup of something to her lips, 
saying, coaxingly : 

“Drink dis hyer, honey. It’ll do ye a power o’ good. 
Dah ! dat’s fur ole mammy. Now ye’ll sleep like a coon 
in a corn-lof’, an’ wake up a-shinin’ in de mo’nin’.” 

Too weak to resist, Agatha drank as required. 

Then mammy began to croon a hymn, until to Agatha’s 
unsettled fancy the weird cadences of her voice, her fan- 
tastic head-dress, her black face and crouching posture, 
as she swayed back and forth, made her seem some old 
witch, weaving a spell of enchantment. ' 

Then things began to fade into indefiniteness, until out 
of an immense gilt picture frame descended a little old 
fairy godmother, with robes long-waisted and trailing, 
and the coiffure of centuries ago. 

But in her little black eyes there was a malevolent glit- 
ter, as she fixed them searchingly on the girl’s face. 

Agatha would have started upright, but she could not 
move. 

Then the elf, and the light by which she was illumi- 
nated, faded out, and through the gloom rang a cry, so 
wild that it burst the spell that bound the faculties of the 
girl, and she sat up in bed, trembling from head to 
foot, as she huddled the bed-clothes about her. 

' On a little stand near the head of her bed stood a goblet 
containing oil, on the surface of which floated a taper, 
once common in sick-rooms. Its faint illumination only 
filled the vast chamber with haunting shadows, out of 
which the excited girl momentarily expected some new 
horror to start. 

Again the house rang with shriek after shriek. Then 
came a crash, after which the voice died away in moans, 
that grew fainter and fainter, until all was still again. 

What was it ? Had some one been killed in that terrible 
house ? 

The girl could endure no more. Gathering a coverlet 
about her, she leaped out of bed and rushed from the 
room, seeking some avenue of escape from that abode of 
haunting horrors. 

But she had scarcely crossed the threshold into the 
black darkness of the corridor, when her flight was arrest- 
ed by the sound of hurrying, stumbling footsteps, and a 
guttural voice growling ; 


38 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“ Ach, Gott ! dis is Erebus. Haf dey never a light ?” 

With a shudder of fear and loathing at being alone in 
the darkness with that horrible man, Agatha would have 
shrunk back into the room from whose terrors she had 
just fled, but she was too late— he had discovered her. 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 


89 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DEAD MAX, AND THE LIVING. 

Presto change ! Cambridge, Horace Warwick, and his 
baby wife, whose very weakness baffles his iron will. 
Weak and selfish, yet really loving her sister, instead of 
resuming cheerfulness at her husband’s command, May 
moped, lost color, and was exquisitely exasperating in her 
red-eyed, saintly resignation. Horace then waxed wroth, 
thereby adding fear to her wretchedness, and convincing 
himself that he was a brute. So pretty, so clinging, so 
utterly dependent on his love and protection was she, that 
his anger turned from her to Agatha, with a suspicion of 
jealousy that even his love could not wholly compensate 
her loss. 

Then he had a bright idea. He would take May to the 
South with him, and attend in person to some business 
which he otherwise would have delegated to an attorney. 

“ Here is change of scene, and no chance of my poor 
darling being harrowed by meeting with her. And Mo- 
bile — next door to Fenton’s place. May is afraid of the 
water, so we’ll head him off by rail, and give him a little 
surprise when he steps ashore. 

“Forty-eight hours in which to prepare for a winter in 
the South, my love.” 

A pretty little flurry of almost childish excitement, a 
thousand and one purely feminine objections to the unpre- 
cedented shortness of time (behind which lies a real dis- 
may which she dares not put into words), all peremptorily 
overridden by that tyrant, yclept business, beneath whose 
yoke the prudent husband pacifies his credulous wife, to 
the end that he may attain his own sweet will ; and the 
Warwicks reach Mobile before Max sees it close the vista 
of his love-dream. 

An accident prevented the meeting of the friends ; and 
Horace, who was impatient of being balked in any plan 
which he had formed, set out on horseback in pursuit of 
the coasting vessel. But, perplexed by distances which 
were measured by looks, and yells, and right-smart jogs, 
and directions which were described as hither and yon, he 


40 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


lost his way ; and night found him taking a short cut 
along the beach, gazing anxiously out over the white- 
capped waters, for the news of the shipwreck had already 
reached him. 

Far down the beach he could see the bonfires, when sud- 
denly his horse shied at a dark object which the 
waves had spurned from them, having worked their fell 
purpose. 

With a heart- thrill Horace leaped from the saddle, knelt 
upon the wet sand, and turned the livid face to the moon- 
light. A weed, matted in the sodden locks, trailed across 
the blue-glazed eyes. There were sand and foam on the 
bloodless lips. 

With reverent hand Horace brushed them away, while 
a great cry went up from his heart : 

“ Max ! Max ! Oh, my poor, dear fellow ! that I should 
find you like this. Dead — drowned. Oh, Max !” 

Before fortune, through the medium of a deceased rela- 
tive, had dropped a treasure-trove into his lap, Horace 
Warwick had studied medicine. Now a momentary ex- 
amination showed him that the last sad rites were all that 
remained to be done for the senseless clay that lay before 
him. 

“Ah, the cruel sea !” he sighed, looking out over it, 
where the mad waves seemed to rend and tear each other 
in savage confiict. 

But at that very instant he caught sight of that which 
caused him to leap into the saddle again, and from this 
more elevated position strain his eyes over the black 
waters. 

“ Can it be ? Great Heaven, it is !” he cried, excitedly — 
“ some one struggling out there in the waves. Some cur- 
rent has brought these poor wretches here, while the 
crowd watches yonder. Max, old chum, I leave you to 
save a poor creature dear to some one, no doubt.” 

The next instant, with voice and spur, he urged his 
horse into the surf, and steed and rider disappeared in the 
foam. But they rose again, the noble beast snorting and 
swimming bravely, the rider, forgetful of the danger to 
self, gazing out over the heaving waters with burning 
eye. 

“Hallo! Hallo!” he shouted, at the top of his lungs; 
then a wave broke over his head. But as he emerged again 
he was ready with his shout of encouragement to the 
drowning wretch, whoever it might be. 

So until he espied it again, neared it, seized it — a man 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


4t 


lashed to a broken spar. And out there in that mass ot 
waters, having gazed upon the white face, into whose 
staring eyes the dark hair washed unheeded, Horace 
Warwick cried, in a voice of fear : 

“My God ! what is this? Max’s very self, whom I just 
now left dead on the beach !” 

Identical in name and physical appearance, this Max 
Fenton and that Max Fenton were each indeed the other’s 
“very self,” in all save nature. If both were dead, 
who could distinguish them ? If one yet remained alive, 
he might with impunity assume whichever character he 
chose. And who would announce himself a convict 
when he might stand forth in honor among men ? Not 
he who had plotted, even to the murder of a brother, for 
this very end. 

A brief retrospect will explain how this Max came to be 
tied to a spar. 

When the vessel was overwhelmed by that giant billow, 
it seemed to the plotting valet as if he were hurled to the 
bottom of the sea. Perkins had one very useful accom- 
plishment — he was an expert swimmer. 

When, half-drowned, he struggled to the surface, he 
strained every effort to gain the boat, of which he now 
and then caught sight, tossed like a cockle-shell on the 
madly leaping wave-crest. But adverse currents, formed 
by the rush of the sea through interstices in the reef, 
countervailed his most frantic exertions, until, exhausted, 
he merely sustained himself, gazing toward the boat as a 
man can gaze only toward that which holds the one slen-, 
der hope of life. 

In that moment he saw a form drawn over the gunwale. 
In the gloom that momentary view did not enable him 
to distinguish the sex, and of course the form of Max in 
the water wholly escaped his notice. 

As he rose on the next billow he saw that the boat had 
turned toward the shore. Then he began to swim madly 
toward it, shrieking at the top of his voice. When he 
realized how fruitlessly, he was for a time insane. In the 
reaction that followed he might have abandoned all hope, 
and allowed himself to sink in the sea, had he not caught 
sight of some one floating near him, so high out of the 
water that he must be sustained by some buoyant object — 
probably a broken spar. 

This proved to be the case. It was the captain of the 
vessel, so weak from some injury which he had received 
that he could scarcely retain his hold upon the fragment 


42 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


of a topmast with the cross-trees attached. The float 
barely sufficed to sustain the two wretches who now clung 
to it. 

But ere long the eddying currents bore another that 
way — a man who was just at that point between life and 
death where the instinct of self-preservation is all that is 
left of his reason. 

Perkins saw him and reflected : 

“Good ’eavens ! ’ere’s luck ! The bother’s dead, so this 
’ere’s my goose with the golden hegg ! Dead, ’e’s worth 
nothink to me ; but alive, ’e’ll make my fortune. ITl save 
’im?” 

And he shouted : 

“ ’Ere ! 

And Max — the Max whom fickle Fortune, that perverse 
coquette, now chose to favor — made a last clutch, and 
grasped the end of the spar which Perkins pushed toward 
him, himself letting go his hold. 

But did he mean to sacrifice himself for another ? Ah, 
no. With that in his eyes which killed all hopes in the 
breast of him upon whom they were bent, he swam toward 
the other end of the spar, saying to the unfortunate cap- 
tain ; 

“ This won’t ’old three of us. That’s my friend, so I 
give ’im a chance. But you’re nothink to me, and 
you’ve got to let go.” 

“But I had the spar first,” pleaded the captain, not 
from any hope of justice, which he had not the strength 
to enforce. 

“That don’t make any difference,” said Perkins, dog- 
gedly. “It’s hevery man for ’imself hout ’ere” 

And by this time being within reach, he struck the help- 
less man in the face with his fist. 

The luckless captain sank without a cry, but with a last 
look which must have haunted one not utterly soulless. 

“Now we’re comfortable,” soliloquized the man, who 
seemed entirely destitute of conscience. "‘But it won’t do 
to ’ave no mistakes in this ’ere thing. Eecollect, I don’t 
know that the other one is dead. This may be ’im.” 

And, to make doubly sure, Perkins drew to the side of 
the man, who now seemed too far gone in a stupor to 
take cognizance of what was going on about him, for the 
mark that was to distinguish one from the other. 

“So ’elp me Bob, ’ere it is,” he cried, as he discovered 
the bit of yellow ribbon tied through the button-hole. 
“What, Perkins— my diplomatic Perkins. ’Ere, me boy, 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


43 


is a bit of silk, as it’s walue ain’t hintrinsic. We’ll ap- 
propriate this ’ere — won’t we, now? as a keepsake. This 
’ere’s a check for ten thousand poun’ on his honor. Max 
Fenton — Max Fenton, the rogue, as’ll cut a swell, I’ll bet 
’igh, in ’is dead brother’s shoes.” 

Removing the bit of ribbon, he next proceeded to lash 
his man to the spar with rope which he found rove 
through the end of the cross-trees, saying : 

“It won’t do to lose ’im. ’E’s waluable.” • 

So these two were borne by the currents along the coast 
to the spot where Horace Warwick had come upon the 
dead Max Fenton. 

Perkins saw Horace bending over the inanimate body ; 
saw him rise and look out over the sea ; saw him start, 
leap upon his horse, and strain his vision to pierce the un- 
certain shadows of the changing moonlight and darkness 
and the shifting waters ; saw him spur his horse into the 
sea, and heard his. shout of encouragement. 

“ ’E ’as sighted us. But must ’e find you e’re — eh^ my 
subtle Perkins ? Not ’e. You must take some risks, me 
boy — it’ll pay in the hend.” 

And, letting go his hold on the spar, he began to swim 
away parallel with the shore. 

He had been careful to bind Max with his breast against 
the spar, and his arms thrown over it, so that he floated 
head and shoulders out of water, the broken cross-tree 
giving a comparatively stable equilibrium to the float, so 
that it preserved him in this upright position. 

As Perkins had calculated, this conspicuous object riv- 
eted Horace’s eye, so that he did not see the man swim- 
ming low down in the water. 

So from the dead Max, Horace came to the living Max, 
and the intriguing valet held the only clew that distin- 
guished the one from the other. 

“Max, Max, in God’s name, what is the meaning of 
this ?” cried the sorely perplexed Horace. 

And though that Max had remained deaf to his appeal, 
this Max roused sufficiently to open his eyes and gaze 
vacantly at his rescuer. 

“He is alive — alive — thank God !” cried Horace, natur- 
ally, with faith born of hope, believing that the living 
Max was his Max. 

Thinking it safer to take both spar and man in tow than 
to impose a double burden on his nobly struggling horse, 
Horace caught the end of the rope and headed for the 
shore. 


44 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Gallantly the spirited animal swam, emerging with a 
snort of defiance from the billows that broke over his 
head. A moment he fioundered in the surf, then, gaining 
his footing, he sprang up the beach, while the spar and its 
helpless freight were rolled over and over by the tum- 
bling breakers. 

Leaving his horse trembling, sneezing, pawing the sand, 
and tossing his head in excitement, Horace cut the lash- 
ing of the living Max, and laid him beside his dead coun- 
terpart. 

“ Heavens !” he cried, startled by the wonderful resem- 
blance. “ If they were to be changed while my back was 
turned, I could not tell them apart.” 

Meanwhile, the man who alone held the clew had swum 
ashore, just beyond a line of rocks which ran down into 
the sea, dividing the beach, and affording him a covert 
from which to peer forth upon that strange scene, in 
which was to be established the identity of an honest man 
and an arrant knave. 

From a small flask, which he carried for cases of emer- 
gency, Horace poured some brandy down the throat of the 
now unconscious man, and began to chafe and beat his 
hands. Ere long he opened his eyes, rose to a sitting 
posture, and with a shudder discovered his dead double. 

The supreme moment was at hand. 

Horace remained silent, in a terrible suspense. 

The eyes of the living Max next turned upon him — at 
first with dull bewilderment, then suddenly lighting with 
recognition, ; and, extending his hand, he cried, in won- 
der : 

“ Horace ! Horace !” 

“Thank God! thank God!” was the fervent response, 
as, convinced by this recognition that the living man was 
indeed his friend, Horace Warwick grasped the proffered 
hand, scarcely able to restrain tears of gladness. 

How could he know that convict Max had not studied 
his photograph, and got thoroughly acquainted with him 
through his letters to the true Max and the diary of the 
latter, but had actually followed after and seen him dur- 
ing Max’s last visit, when fate presented him to the two 
sisters under such diverse circumstances; so that the 
impostor was as well qualified to recognize him as was 
his old college chum. 

Knowing nothing of this, he went on ; 

“ Oh, Max ! my dear fellow ! I feel as if a brother were 
restored to me, I can never describe the pain I felt when 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


45 


I came upon that body, and thought that it was you, lying 
there cold and dead. But, in Heaven’s name, who is it 
that resembles you so closely ? I never heard you speak of 
having a twin brother. But the resemblance — nay, the 
identity — is wonderful, startling, even in twins. ” 

The living Max turned to his dead counterpart with a 
bone-searching shudder. It must have been to him like 
looking upon one’s self in death. 

“ Are you sure that he is dead ?” asked he. 

“Unquestionably,” replied Horace. 

Then, in a voice of sad solemnity, the living Max said : 

“Perhaps it is well. He was my brother, but not a twin 
— not even by the same mother — God forbid !” as if this 
were wrung from him by the sanctity of that mother’s 
memory. “ I can tell you only this — there was much that 
was blameworthy in his life, but also much that was un- 
fortunate. May a merciful God judge him leniently.” 

Thus spake the living ; and the dead did not rise up in 
judgment against him. 

From his covert the false valet chuckled : 

“ ’E’ll win. ’E beats the devil !” 

Would he win? Or, when became to claim Agatha 
Malden’s caress, would love, guided by woman’s instinct, 
reverse the decision of friendship ? 


46 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PLOTTERS. 

The curtain rises on a scene of shadows ; a large room, 
with bare, waxed floor and wainscoted walls, against 
which hang paintings, some of them so dark with age that 
in the dim light we can scarcely distinguish the penciled 
lineaments. They are portraits of men with fine, intel- 
lectual faces and women of high-bred, aristocratic beauty. 
One would say at a glance : 

“ These are the ancestors of some Englishman, proud of 
his line.” 

The antique furniture, looking scant because of the size 
of the room, must be two or three hundred years old, 
plainly of the most costly and elegant of its day. 

At one end of the room is a large fire-place — so large, 
indeed, that it forms a recess which might almost be 
called a room by itself. This, with its huge brass fire- 
dogs and accompanying furniture, is plainly a reminis- 
cence of old England, and has little in keeping with the 
tropical clime in which we find it. 

Nevertheless, the chill November storm that is raging 
without makes welcome the wood Are that blazes on the 
hearth. 

Before this fire-place the bare floor is covered with a 
large, square drugget, in the center of which stands a 
table, which in turn bears a lamp scarcely adequate to 
dispel the shadows of so vast a room. 

Beside this table, in a high-backed chair of the Queen 
Anne pattern, and with a cushion beneath her feet, is 
seated a lady, in one way in perfect keeping with her sur- 
roundings. Though small in stature, in stateliness she 
rivals the haughtiest of those painted duchesses, around 
whom she looks with a glance which shows her pride in 
them. 

Yet, though they are English, she is as distinctively 
Spanish, the care with which she preserves her nationality 
in every detail of dress showing that she is proud of that, 
too. 

But at the moment when introduced to the reader pride 
was not dominant in Donna Catalina’s emotions. She sat 


A GODDESS m EXILE. 47 

waiting, with a scant patience which showed that she was 
little used to attending the convenience of others. 

Don Felipe and Dr. Reinhardt entered, the former 
throwing himself into a chair without a word, the latter 
bowing low, with : 

“Senora, my respect.” 

The lady waved him to a seat, a little impatiently. 
Then, turning to her son, she asked : 

“Well, who is this that you have brought here — here, of 
all places in the world ? Do we want spies among us ? 
And, having proceeded without consulting me, you have 
kept me waiting your pleasure.” 

Ignoring the last part of her speech, Don Felipe replied, 
somewhat doggedly : 

“ My lady mother, we may be compelled to admit this 
spy.” 

“How? Compelled?” repeated the lady, instant resis- 
tance as well as astonishment flashing from her black 
eyes. 

“Ah !” uttered the German, “I hat not time to question 
you of dis dot seem to me fraught mit dancher. Vy shall 
she come by us, ven de house of yonder peoples iss open 
—ah?” 

Don Felipe shuddered as he began to explain. 

“ Luckily for us, I was first on the beach, and launched 
the boat with only our people in it. We reached the reef 
just before the vessel struck. A few minutes later I saw 
an object floating in the water, which proved to be a man 
and a woman. The woman we lifted into the boat. She 
is in yonder room. The man might have been saved, 
too ” 

“But was not? Why?” burst forth Donna Catalina, 
taking the contagion of her son’s agitation. 

Don Felipe rose to his feet, his face ghastly pale, his 
eyes ablaze with horror, and perhaps fear. 

“He was conscious — he grasped the side of the boat,” he 
went on, not seeming to heed the interruption. “ When 
I would have seized him by the shoulder, he tossed his 
dripping hair out of his eyes, and looked at me. That 
look — it burned into my very soul. ‘Saved by you?’ he 
shouted. ‘Never!’ And, letting go his hold on the boat, 
he sank into the sea. ” 

And, with a shudder, Don Felipe covered his eyes with 
his hand. 

“ Gott in Himmel !” cried the German, springing to his 
feet. 


48 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Donna Catalina kicked the cushion from beneath her 
feet, but did not rise. Only her hand grasped the edge of 
the table convulsively. 

“Speak — speak !” she cried. “Who was it? Who hated 
you like that ?” 

“Who but oneT’ asked Don Felipe. “James Maxwell 
Fenton. ” 

“ Donna !” ejaculated Dr. Reinhardt. 

Don Felipe began to pace the room, his face twitching, 
his eyes seeming to shrink from the shadows in the dis- 
tant angles of the apartment. 

Donna Catalina sat bolt upright, following her son with 
her eyes. 

“ And he is dead ?” she said, presently, in a husky voice. 

“Dead?” repeated Don Felipe, stopping abruptly in his 
excited walk. “Santos dios ! he will never be dead to me. 
He rode at my elbow all through the woods to-night. 
Turn which way I will — ” 

“ Ach — folly !” interrupted the doctor, stamping his foot 
impatiently. “Let us haf no nonsense. Heissdeat? He 
iss deat. Dot simplifies de matter. If he shall fint 
amusement in peeping at us from de shattows — pifi !” 

And the German snapped his fingers, to show his con- 
tempt for supernatural persecution. 

“If he is indeed dead, we have nothing more to fear,” 
ventured Donna Catalina. 

“ Maldita !” cried Don Felipe, turning upon them 
fiercely. “ You did not see his looks.” 

“Looks! looks! Ach! vat iss dot? Moonshine!” 
scoffed Dr. Reinhardt. 

Drawing his huge cotton handkerchief from his pocket, 
he blew a sounding blast from his trumpet-like nose. 
Then, affectionately tapping the lid of his capacious snuff- 
box, he refortified with pinch after pinch of its contents. 

“ Come !” he cried, slapping Don Felipe on the back. 
“Youhafstoot up before lead. Dot make someding mit 
you, off it hit you — no ? But dot ghost— dot bugaboo dot 
frighten children — dot t’row you in hysteric, eh ? Ha, ha ! 
you are a fine fellow.” 

Don Felipe flushed angrily, but his retort was cut short 
by the voice of Donna Catalina, who beat the table impa- 
tiently with her hand, crying : 

“But what has all this to do with the woman whom you 
have brought here ?” 

“Ah, dot make sometinks :” cried Dr. Reinhardt, tap- 
ping his nose and bobbing his head sagely. “Vomans — 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


49 


vomans dot iss no shattow. Gott in Himmel, dot iss de 
very teffle — Ach, my donderhead. Your pardon, Donna 
Catalina,” he apologized, thumping his head with his fat 
fist, and bowing low before the lady. 

She only frowned impatiently, ignoring him, and keep- 
ing her little black eyes on her son. 

“What has all this to do with the woman?” repeated 
Don Felipe. “Who is she?” 

“ Dio mio — how should I know ?” cried the lady, seeing 
that he paused. “ What do I care ? She is a gossiping 
jade who will betray us. That is enough for me.” 

“ Stop. What was she to him ?” pursued Don Felipe. 

“Ah!” aspirated Dr. Reinhardt. 

Donna Catalina stared and half rose from her chair, 
plainly startled by the question. 

“Let us suppose his wife,” suggested Don Felipe. 

With a gasping aspiration, as if stung, his lady mother 
sank back into her chair,, breathless, her sallow face look- 
ing like parchment. 

“ His vife ?” cried Dr. Reinhardt, aghast. 

He was the first to recover self-possession, and, lapsing 
naturally into choler, he cried : 

“ Ach — vat iss dot ? Vy hiss vife ?” 

“Who is she? Why was he bringing her here?” de- 
manded Don Felipe. 

“Buff 1” scoffed the German. “ Dot make netting. May- 
pee he don’t pring her here. May pee she come her selluff. 
Hiss vife? Ach, Gott! She iss de captain’s vife — my 
vife — your vife — Donna Catalina’s vife. Nein, nein — dot 
make netting.” 

And he shook his head like some huge water-dog, and 
stamping about the room as if determined to destroy the 
unwelcome possibility by refusing to entertain it. 

“ No, no, she cannot be his wife, ” breathed Donna Cata- 
lina, in a way which showed that the wish was parent to 
the hope. 

“Do you take me for a child?” cried Don Felipe, 
angrily. “ If you had seen the desperation with which he 
clung to her, himself half drowned — the tenderness with 
which he handed her up to us, while he was yet strug- 
gling ” 

“Veil, vel^l,” interrupted Dr. Reinhardt, roughly. “She 
iss hiss vife. Vat den? Donnerwetter. He iss deat — she 
iss in our power. Ve haf respect for him — ve haf no lofe 
for her. She iss a stranger. Ve not go to her — she come 
to us. So much de vorse for her. Ach, Gott in Himmel 1 


50 A GODDESS IN EXILE, 

She iss hiss vife. Veil, veil. Vill she balk us? Piff.” 

And, throwing his arms about like flails, he stamped 
back and forth more turbulently than ever, the imper- 
sonation of brutal violence. 

“Santa Maria! hush. You will be overheard,” gasped 
Donna Catalina. 

And she seemed to shrink further and further into her 
chair, while her parchment face became more and more 
wizened, and her little black eyes retreated, and con- 
tracted, and glittered, snake-like. 

Don Felipe turned upon the German with something 
like horror in his face. 

“Mil Diablos !” he growled, “are we assassins?” 

Dr. Reinhardt faced him, stared into his eyes a moment, 
and then turned upon his heel with a grunt of disdain. 

“ Hush, hush, for the love of God I” cried Donna Cata- 
lina. “No, no, she cannot be his wife. No common 
woman could win him, after what he has experienced.” 

“ But I tell you she is not an ordinary woman. You 
should see her. ” 

“I will,” cried Donna Catalina, rising with sudden reso- 
lution. “ Dr. Reinhardt, await our return. Felipe, attend 
me.” 

Don Felipe offered his mother his arm. She accepted 
it with as much stateliness as if at a ceremonial ball. 

Near the door he took a small antique hand-lamp from 
a stand, and with its flickering flame lighted their way 
along the gloomy corridors, their shifting silhouettes fol- 
lowing them like grim, overshadowing phantoms. 

At the door of Agatha’s chamber Donna Catalina took 
the lamp and entered alone. Drawing near the canopied 
bed, she looped back the curtain with one hand while she 
held the lamp above her head with the other, and so stood 
motionless, scanning with her little, ferret-like eyes 
every lineament of that wondrous beauty. 

The girl lay in narcotized slumber, her eyes half-closed, 
feverish hectic on her cheeks, one arm tossed restlessly 
above her head. 

So her clouded senses transformed Donna Catalina into 
a fairy godmother. 

“Well?” asked Don Felipe, when his mother came 
forth. 

“She is not his wife,” said the lady, positively. 

“How do you know?” 

“ She wears no wedding-ring. ” 

At that moment, as the don was about to take the 


A GODDESS lA EXILE, 61 

lamp, a chill draught came down the corridor and extin- 
guished it, leaving the pair of plotters in darkness. 

An instant later Donna Catalina felt something brush 
hastily by her, and in the gloom caught sight of a white, 
ghost-like figure, which fled down the corridor. 

Unnerved, perhaps the more easily because of evil 
thoughts which she had harbored, the woman uttered a 
shriek of terror, dropped the extinguished lamp, and 
made a clutch for her son. 

But with an oath Don Felipe had bounded away in pur- 
suit of the phantom, which fled shrieking before him, 
until it ran blindly into and overturned a heavy piece of 
furniture, which fell to the floor with a crash. Then the 
halls echoed hollowly with moans that grew fainter and 
fainter, until a distant door was banged violently shut, 
closing in the sound. 

It was this that freed Agatha’s chained faculties. When 
she rushed from her chamber she Saw at the end of the 
corridor a faint illumination from an open French win- 
dow, through which, no doubt, had come the gust of wind 
that extinguished Donna Catalina’s lamp. 

The horrified girl was about to attempt escape by this 
avenue, when Dr. Reinhardt came stumbling upon the 
scene, cursing the obstacle against which he ran in the 
darkness. She would have eluded him, but her leaden 
feet seemed glued to the floor. 

She stood stock-still, staring at him helplessly, while 
with a cry of rage he sprang upon her and clutched her. 

She had a thought that she had detected these people in 
the commission of some awful crime, and that this horrid 
ghoul was about to kill her to save himself and ac- 
complices. Then a sickening sense of repulsion at his 
loathsome touch seemed to crush out all consciousness. 
There in the darkness she lay senseless in his arms. 

Would it be better for her to die thus, or live to meet 
the man who boldly declared himself the Max of her love, 
with only her heart to adjudicate his claim ? 


62 


A Q0DDES8 IN EXILE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BY THE MORNING LIGHT. 

When Agatha Malden recovered consciousness she found 
herself in a bed of downy softness, garnished with snowy 
linen and a silken counterpane. Her chamber was flooded 
with golden sunlight, and through the half-open window 
came the balmy morning breeze, redolent of a thousand 
tropical flowers and melodious with the varied notes of 
gay-plumaged birds. 

In this atmosphere of peace the horrors of the preceding 
night seemed vague and visionary. No doubt the fairy 
godmother and that blood-curdling scream were but the 
vagaries of a distempered dream. 

As she lay and listened for some sound to denote that 
the tenants of the house were astir, there came, appar- 
ently from an apartment overhead, the screams of a 
child in a very matter-of-fact display of temper. 

This incident dispelled the half-dreamy repose in which 
she had lain, and her wandering fancy was arresed by a 
startling recollection. 

In imagination she was back again on the wreck, with 
the lips of the man she loved pressed to hers, and that 
great green billow towering aloft, ready to ingulf them. 

But she was here, safe, restored to the warmth and 
brightness (just then she forgot its misery) of life. 

And he ? 

With a sweep of her arm she flung back the coverlets, 
and sprang out of bed. But her clothes were nowhere in 
sight. Violently she pulled the silken bell-rope which de- 
pended near the head of the bed, then stood trembling, 
with her eyes flxed on the door, supporting herself by 
clinging to the canopied head-board. 

There was no immediate response to her summons, and 
ere long she was fain to sit down on the edge of the bed, 
to overcome the giddiness that seized upon her. 

Presently there was a shuffling of feet along the hall, 
the door opened, and mammy appeared, breathless yet 
smiling, bearing a tray with black coffee in the daintiest 
of china, and followed by an ebony satellite, wide-eyed 


A GODDESS IN EXILR 


53 


and open* mouthed, whose arms were piled high with 
freshly laundered linen and a black dress which Agatha 
recognized as her own. 

“Dah, honey!” cried mammy, her black face beaming 
with pride, “we ’uns done gone set up dis hull bressed 
night, washin’, an’ dryin’, an’ cl’ar-starchin’, an’ ironin’ 
dem ’ah clo’s. But, ’clar’ to goodness, it done my ole 
heart good to see sich stitchin’ an’ hemmin’. ‘Golly!’ 
says Em’ly dah — dis hyer chile” — at which reference the 
satellite hung her head sheepishly, then rolled her eyes 
and almost dislocated her jaw in the effort to repress a 
self-conscious titter— “ ‘Golly’ says she, ‘reckon dat ’ah 
lady’s scrumptious,’ says she. ‘Go ’long,’ says I. ‘D’ye 
t’ink I’s breakin’ my ole back ober de duds ob any o’ yo’ 
pore white trash ’ ” 

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Agatha, in her gentle, consider- 
ate way ; “ everything is done very nicely indeed, and you 
are exceedingly kind to do so much for a stranger.” 

“Lor’ bless ye, missy, I’d work dese fingers to de 
bone ” 

“Yes, I can never thank you. But can you tell me were 
others saved from the wreck ?” 

“ Fo’ de Lo’d, I dunno nuffin’ about it — deed I don’t. 
Dey wa’n’t none o’ yo’ folks?” 

“Please help me to dress. Can I see the lady of the 
house immediately ?” 

“ ’Deed, honey, de missus ain’t up yit.” 

“ Then one of the gentlemen who brought me here !” 

“Massa Fillipy’s gone, eber sence daybreak, down to de 
sea-sho’, ’long o’ de doctor.” 

With this Agatha was forced to be content ; and in har- 
rowing suspense she went out into the garden upon which 
her chamber looked, sustained by excitement, and yet so 
weak and tottering that she was compelled to find a seat 
in a rustic summer-house. 

After a time she became conscious of the magnetism of 
a pair of eyes, and soon discovered them peering at her 
through the vine leaves. 

The owner of the eyes was the most elfish child that 
Agatha had ever seen, and the fact that she carried a 
much-abused doll by one foot was not prepossessingly sug- 
gestive. She was not over six years old, with an angular, 
not to say scrawny, figure, and a pinched, sallow face, in 
which a physiognomist would have marked vanity and 
peevish self-will. And yet the mass of black hair fell 
about her shoulders, and the dark eyes gave promise of 


54 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


the development of a striking, weird sort of beauty as she 
approached womanhood. 

Just now those disheveled tresses, her dress somewhat 
disordered, and the traces of tears about her eyes, sug- 
gested a pitched battle with her nurse. 

“Come here, little girl,” invited Agatha; but, to her 
surprise, the little vixen made a face at her and ran away, 
calling out, shrilly ; 

“ I hate ye !” 

From where she sat, Agatha had seen a woman emerge 
from a distant wing of the great, rambling house, and 
pace slowly back and forth on a path which formed the 
extreme boundary of the garden. This garden had fallen 
into neglect, so that flowers and vines had run wild, and 
the shrubbery had grown into tangled copses, between 
which Agatha could catch only occasional glimpses of the 
woman, who seemed to be taking a morning oonstitu- 
tional. 

Judging from her dress, she might have been a house- 
keeper or upper servant. But what flxed Agatha’s atten- 
tion and excited her wonder was the fact that the woman 
was vailed and walked with bowed head and lagging step, 
like one in deep melancholy. 

As she ran, the elf-child who had so ill repaid Agatha’s 
courtesy came unexpectedly upon this woman, to be 
caught by the shoulder with a savage gesture, and ad- 
dressed with words which, from the distance, did not 
reach Agatha’s ear. But the frightened cry of the child 
was plainly audible, and there was no mistaking the ter- 
ror with which she squirmed out of the grasp of the 
woman, and ran at the top of her speed. 

This strange occurrence brought Agatha’s thoughts back 
to the shadows of mystery which enveloped the house into 
which fate had brought her ; and before the expiration of 
the hour which elapsed before mammy appeared with the 
announcement that “de missus” was ready to receive her, 
Agatha longed to get away from her weird entertainers. 

Donna Catalina sat in state in the same monumental 
hall where we saw her on the previous evening. She re- 
mained seated, as with the privilege of years, but received 
her guest with a stately courtesy, waving her to an easy- 
chair. 

“ I am surprised as well as gratifled to see that you have 
so far recovered from the shock and exposure of yester- 
day,” she said, in a voice which had not yet lost its cul- 
tivated music ; “ the more so that you were quite deliri- 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


65 


ous last night, and we were led to fear serious difficulty. 
I hope that your venturing up so soon will not prove an 
imprudence.” 

“Madam,” replied Agatha, blaming herself that her dis- 
trust did not yield before this gracious reception, “ I feel 
that I owe everything to your kindly hospitality, for 
which I tender you sincere ” 

“Pray, do not mar our pleasure, then,” interrupted 
Donna Catalina, with a smile, “ by embarrassing us with 
thanks for which there is indeed so little call.” 

Yielding to the complaisant humor of her hostess, 
Agatha then introduced herself by name, adding only that 
her destination was the home of a Donna Catalina Fenton 
— “ a neighbor, possibly, of her entertainer ?” 

A strange look, which baffied Agatha’s analysis, flitted 
over Donna Catalina’s face. 

“A neighbor?” she repeated. “Nay, herself. Fortune 
has dropped you at our very door. I am Donna Catalina. 
But — pardon me — may I ask ” 

Agatha saw instantly that her coming was unexpected, 
and flushing in painful embarrassment, said : 

“I was the bearer of a letter of introduction from Mr. 
James Eawlinson, of Boston ; but now I fear it is lost with 
my luggage. Can he have neglected to apprise you ?” 

“Oh!” interrupted Donna Catalina, “it is all plain to 
me. You are the governess for whom I applied to my late 
husband’s attorney. Pray, divest your mind of all anx- 
iety. His response was so prompt that n :> doubt he had no 
time to forestall your coming to us. But his recom- 
mendation is sufficient ; and I will add that what I have 
seen of you moves me to a cordial indorsement of his 
execution of a perhaps somewhat perplexing mission, for 
a man. So I hope that you will place yourself perfectly 
at ease, and feel that your welcome is without reserve. 
However, we will defer the canvassing of business ques- 
tions until you are more fit to enter upon them.” 

“Madam,” replied Agatha, “further postponement 
would only prove that I failed to appreciate your kindness 
and consideration. I cannot be sufficiently grateful ” 

“Pray, desist!” pleaded Donna Catalina, with a smile; 
and somehow Agatha received the impression that her 
hostess was now for the first time perfectly at her ease. 
Her manner^underwent a subtle change. Without becom- 
ing patronizing, it marked the distinction between a gov- 
erness and her employer. 


56 


A GODDESS IN’EXILE. 


After that the conversation turned to the wreck, in the 
course of which Agatha said : 

“Besides myself, there were two gentlemen passengers 
on the schooner. Do you know whether they were res- 
cued ?” 

She asked the question with her heart in her mouth, 
some instinct leading her to give no intimation that she 
was particularly acquainted with either. 

“ I do not, ” replied Donna Catalina. “But here comes 
my S'on, Don Felipe, doubtless returning with informa- 
tion.” 

The Spaniard rode up to the door- way, flung himself 
from the saddle, and entered the house hurriedly. 

Going directly to Donna Catalina, he lifted her hand to 
his lips, and said : 

“My mother, I am the bearer of very painful intelli- 
gence. I beg you to prepare yourself for a shock ” 

But at this point came a startling interruption. Agatha 
Malden, looking out of the window, had discovered a sol- 
emn procession approaching the house — a stretcher, cov- 
ered with a black pall, borne by four slaves, bare-headed, 
and followed sadly by others, whlie Dr. Reinhardt rode at 
a walk beside it. 

With her heart compressed as by an iron hand, she ex- 
tended her arms, and turning toward Don Felipe her 
bloodless face, managed to articulate : 

“Who— who?” 

Then her voice failed. 

“James Maxwell Fenton I” said Don Felipe, with meas- 
ured solemnity. 

“Felipe ! Felipe !” cried his mother. 

But the Spaniard had already sprang toward and 
caught Agatha Malden’s swaying flgure in his arms. 
******** 

Having announced his own identity, and fixed that of 
the dead with a seal of vague suspicion, the living Max 
proceeded, with gloomy bitterness : 

“ Horace, you know that it is not from lack of appre- 
ciation of your act, if I offer you cold thanks ; but perhaps 
it would have been more merciful if you had left me out 
there to my fate — if, even now, I might change 
places ” 

“No, not that !” he interrupted himself suddenly,, as a 
thought of Agatha flitted across his mind— he could not 
give her up to the dead : “but if I might lie down beside 
that body and share its oblivion ” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


57 


“ Nonsense, Max !” cried his friend, trying to hide how 
greatly he was shocked by assuming an off-hand tone and 
manner. “Here, old fellow, let me help you upon my 
horse. Before bedtime we’ll have turned a corner of 
these gloomy clouds, and, tinted their lining with rosy 
wine. You don’t deserve to be told that I have brought 
my wife to Mobile. We headed you off with the steam- 
horse, though you had the start of us.” 

But Max’s thoughts were far from what Horace was 
saying. He was developing a sudden purpose, which had 
grown out of his own words. 

“ Old chum,” he said, “bear with me and aid me without 
question. The hand of Providence seems to be in this 
thing. No one in America, save you and I — and one 
other, if he is yet alive — knows of the existence of that 
man. When he is found by yonder people, he will be 
mistaken for me, and buried with my name on his tomb- 
stone.” 

“ Great heavens. Max ! what are you saying ?” cried 
Horace, in amazement. 

While Perkins, listening agog from his covert, solilo- 
quized : 

“Eh? That’s somethink deep. But ’e’ll knock hevery- 
thing in the ’ead. What ! let the world know that there’s 
two Max Fentons, as like as two ’en’s eggs? Then they’ll 
’ave the himpudence to say, ‘’Ow do we know that you’re 
the Max?’ Oh, no ! I don’t ’ang my ten thousand poun’ 
on no such broken peg. If ’e don’t roll the bloody thing 
into the sea, I will. After the fish ’ave ’ad a w’ack at it, 
the crowd can ’ave it, to do w’atever they like with.” 

Meanwhile Max was replying : 

“ I cannot now explain to you why I wish the world to 
believe me dead for a time ; but I do wish it ; and your 
aid in carrying out this project may not be the only tax 
I shall place upon your friendship.” 

“Max,” said his friend, earnestly, “you know that you 
can command me to any extent. But this seems so 
strange, so unprecedented. Why, it is like a page out of 
some romance.” 

“Horace,” was the reply, as if wrung from one whose 
soul was on the rack of torturing memory, “real life is 
full of slimy pools, where lurk horrors so dire that, if ro- 
mance writevs dared to expose them to the light of heaven 
in all their horrid deformity, the world would shrink 
shuddering away. Enough, enough ! I ask you to spare 
me. Come ! let us leave this accursed spot I” 


58 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


They went ; and, true to his word, Perkins crept forth 
from his covert, dragged the abandoned corpse over the 
sand, and flung it into the sea, which clutched it raven- 
ously, and swept it away in the undertow of the ebbing 
tide. 

But, like many a better man, the treacherous valet, in 
attempting to frustrate, only succeeded in facilitating the 
working of fate, for a slight veering of the wind changed 
the direction of the currents, so that they bore the body 
back to the scene of the wreck, where the returning tide 
flung it once more on the beach. 

Its identification by those who had been familiar with 
Max Fenton in life was unhesitating ; and now it was 
being borne to the Cypresses by loving hands animated 
by sorrowing hearts, though their masters secretly re- 
joiced. And Agatha Malden found an anguish more bit- 
ter than death in the thought that he was no more. 


A GODDESS IE EXILE. 


69 


CHAPTER IX. 

A STRANGE DEFIANCE. 

The revulsion of feeling excited by finding herself in 
Don Felipe’s arms spurred Agatha’s waning faculties into 
renewed life, and recovering herself, she slipped from his 
support, murmuring brokenly : 

“ Thank you, sir, I am better. I find that I am weaker 

than I thought. The shock But, see, your mother 

demands your care.” 

Donna Catalina had sunk into her chair with well simu- 
lated agitation. 

Taking his cue, Don Felipe sprang to her side. But she 
waved him, back. 

‘‘ It is nothing. You were abrupt. Poor Max !” 

Agatha passed tottering from the room. In the hall she 
heard the shuffling tramp of those who were bearing her 
dead, and with a murmuring wail of anguish fled to her 
chamber, to stifle her moans in her tear- wet pillow. 

The instant she had left the room a marked change ap- 
peared in Donna Catalina’s demeanor. She sprang to her 
feet, her little black eyes snapping fire, an actual color in 
her parchment cheeks. 

“He is dead — he is really dead,” she cried, seizing her 
son’s arm. 

“Diablo!” exclaimed the Spaniard. “Madre mea has 
the vehemence ” 

But she checked his trifling with an imperious gesture. 

“ Take me to him at once. Dead I dead I I must see 
him with my own eyes.” 

“ Do not think of such a thing, ” protested her son. “ It 
is a hideous spectacle. Caramba 1 I — even I shudder to 
recall it.” 

“lam not a child, nor a weakling,” said Donna Cata- 
lina. “ It will not invade my dreams, I promise you.” 

“ But this woman ?” suggested Don Felipe. 

“Is nobody,” concluded his mother — “the governess for 
whom I sent to Senor Rawlinson, associated with Senor 
Fenton by the merest accident of travel.” 

“ Yet she would have fainted ” 


60 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“ The most natural thing in the world. She is yet weak, 
and the violent death of even a stranger, who had yet 
been a fellow-passenger, shocked her of course. But 
come — I hear them entering the house. Clear the 
hall. I will see the body at once. Ah ! here is Dr. Rein- 
hardt.” 

He entered, blowing his nose resonantly on his huge 
handkerchief. 

“Senora,” he said, “Don Felipe has no doubt broken 
de sad intelligence. My condolence ” 

“Away with hypocrisy,” cried the lady, almost sav- 
agely. “We felicitate one another on the removal of a 
formidable obstacle from our path. Come, lead me to 
him.” 

Don Felipe preceded his mother, and drove the sorrow- 
ing slaves from the hall with a harshness which in him 
surprised nobody. 

Ignoring Dr. Reinhardt’s proffered arm, Donna Cata- 
lina advanced to the side of the bier with a quick, ner- 
vous tread. 

The folds of the black pall revealed in ghastly relief the 
rigid figure that lay beneath. 

With a wave of her hand my lady directed her son to 
uncover the face. 

Shuddering, and with averted gaze, he drew down the 
pall. 

Even the callous heart of the ruthless plotter quailed, 
and her face whitened at the revolting spectacle unvailed 
to her gaze — a face bloated, discolored, and shockingly 
mutilated by contact with jagged rocks. 

“Vat goot looking corpse iss dot for de last of de Fen- 
tons?” observed Dr. Reinhardt, unfeelingly. “Ve, at 
least, are not responsible for dis, dough it answer our 
purpose ” 

“ Enough !” interrupted Donna Catalina, turning away 
with something like a shudder, while her son scowled 
blackly as he dropped the pall back to place. 

The German regarded them with a sardonic smile. 

“Bah ! Dey are afrait of vords and shattows !” he mut- 
tered. “ But dey are more greety as I for de vaches of sin 
— aha ! Dese Spaniard — crick, crack !” 

And he executed a pantomime intended to convey the 
idea that the taking of human life was nothing to them. 

All that day Agatha Malden kept her bed, her skin 
parched, her temples throbbing with fever. She had but 
one thought ; the rigid, lifeless form that lay in the draw- 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


61 


ing-room at the father end of the corridor. Her pain was 
all the more bitter that it must be secret. 

And her love sustained one wound which she contem- 
plated in sad wonder, and which deepened the shadow of 
mystery that enveloped this strange household. Why 
had he been introduced to her only as Mr. Maxwell. What- 
ever his motive, she could not believe it ignoble, for he 
was nobility’s self. Then, too. Lawyer Eawlinson had been 
a party to it, and she trusted him as a father. But when 
Max had won her love, and he must have seen it long be- 
fore that fatal moment which wedded their spirits but to 
divorce their bodies, giving one to life and one, alas, to 
death — why then had he not taken her into his confi- 
dence ? 

But now the seal of death lay upon all ; and when night 
had fallen, and deep silence brooded throughout the house, 
she was seized by a longing to go to him. It would be 
her last opportunity, for when the day came again they 
would put him away out of sight forever, and, she, who 
had no lot or part with them, could not approach. 

The chamber which she occupied was on the ground 
floor. She had but to step through the French window 
and pass to the front of the house, where the laxity of 
rural habit in such matters would, she hoped, have left at 
least one window unfastened. If the watchers of the 
dead were not in the same room, as was hardly probable, 
she might creep in and kneel beside this coffin, for that 
leave-taking which, inaudible to human ears, might yet 
reach him. 

With tremulous hands she dressed herself, then crept 
to her door and listened. All the great house was deathly 
still. A moment later she had glided, wraith-like, out 
into the night. 

The moon hung a silver crescent on a purple, star- 
gemmed field ; but the side of the house which she fol- 
lowed lay in deep shadow. 

As she had hoped, she found a side window of the 
drawing-room ajar. She listened. Dead silence reigned. 

She peered within. The room was faintly illuminated 
by the crescent moon shining in at the front windows. 
There, in the center of the room, was an object which 
made her h^art swell almost to bursting. 

Noiselessly she glided in, and sank upon her knees be- 
side the half-draped bier. No word, no moan escaped her 
lips, but her tears fell like rain. Loved, and lost. This 
was the last drop of bitterness in her cup of life. 


62 


A GOVDESS IN EXILE. 


In the midst of that voiceless communion, her heart was 
set a flutter by a sound. Was some one approaching? 
They must not And her here. 

Like a startled fawn, she sprang up and glided to the 
window. The curtains fell behind her ; but, to her dis- 
may, she found the window closed. In her confusion, she 
had come to the wrong one. 

There was no time to rectify her mistake. If she at- 
tempted to open the window which she was at, the slight- 
est squeaking sound would betray her. Some one had 
already entered the room. 

In an agony of fear, she stood perfectly still, scarcely 
daring to breathe. If no one approached the window, 
she was safe. 

Through a slight parting of the curtains she could see 
into the room, and of course all sounds were audible to 
her. 

Thus she saw that the intruder was none other than 
the woman whom she had seen pacing the garden-walk, 
from whose savage clutch the elf-child had broken in 
such abject terror. 

Slowly the woman advanced, with that dead, lagging 
step peculiar to her, until she stood beside the bier, there 
to remain as motionless as a statue, gazing down upon it. 

To Agatha this terrible ordeal, when it seemed as if the 
beating of her heart must betray her, appeared to last 
for hours. Her knees were beginning to quake, her head 
to swim ; it seemed as if she must cry out with the hys- 
terical rising in her throat, when the grief of this strange 
mourner took on a new phase. She began to pace the 
floor, and wring her hands, murmuring unintelligible 
words. After a time she went to one of the front win- 
dows, where the moonlight fell upon her face ; for it was 
not now vailed. 

With a feeling in her heart which she had never before 
experienced, Agatha gazed upon it. She had been asking 
herself, “ Who is this woman ? What was she to him ? 
What right has she to such excessive grief? Now she saw 
a face, the strange gray pallor of which effectually dis- 
guised the age of its possessor. She might be twenty-five 
— she might be forty. The features of this woman plainly 
indicated her intellecual grade. She was, as the French 
say, “ of the people.” Her hair, scant and plainly combed 
on either side her face, was very light, and without a 
trace dt beauty. Her eyebrows and lashes were lighter 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


63 


than her skin, while her eyes were of a watery blue. The 
whole woman looked faded. 

With more wonder than before, Agatha asked herself 
what right had she to such grief beside his bier — this 
woman, plainly not a lady of his rank ? 

But there was little time for speculation, little time for 
humiliation at the incipient jealousy which she felt 
springing up toward this — so mean a rival. The woman 
suddenly started, and faced the drawing-room door, 
while the expression of her face changed from despairing 
grief to hard defiance. 

Then others entered — Donna Catalina, Don Felipe, and 
Dr. Reinhardt. 

Agatha could not retreat nor make her presence known. 
She was forced to witness the scene that followed — forced 
to remain an unwilling eavesdropper on their words. 

Don Felipe’s voice broke the silence, demanding in 
haughty displeasure : 

“What is the meaning of this ? Why are you here ?” 

Unabashed, the woman replied : 

“ It means that I truly mourn, where you rejoice in 
secret. ” 

“Oh, this insolence is unparalleled. It is infamous I” 
cried Donna Catalina. 

The woman smiled a cold, dead smile. 

“ My lady, it is not the only infamy these walls could 
whisper. ” 

With a savage oath Don Felipe strode across the room, 
his brows black with furious menace. 

“ Curse you ! dare you hurl insult at one whose foot is 
upon the neck of such as you ?” 

The woman never quailed, but met him glance to glance 
— him whom few men dared to brave. She even laughed 
a low, derisive defiance. 

“Do you think I fear you?” she asked, quietly. “Would 
X remain within your reach an hour if I did ? No, I know 
you too well — you and them. But you dare not raise your 
hand against me. My fall, like that of Samson, would 
bring the whole fabric of your villainy about your ears. 
Oh, I know that I am perfectly safe as long as you love 
yourself, k You cannot cow me with your murderous 
frown.” ' 

Don Felipe’s defeat was overwhelming. 

Dr. Reinhardt laughed. 

“Come, come!” he said, “de beautiful Carson holts 
queens to our knaves. Dot blu iss goot for nix ven she 


64 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


knows our hants. Mees Carson, ve forgiff you— ve 
sympathize mit your grief — ve bid you goot-efening.” 

He was about to bow himself out with mocking defer- 
ence, when the woman interrupted : 

“I know my place, and can keep it, unless you force me 
to self-defense. I beg your pardon, my lady, for intrud- 
ing where I know I have no right to come. ” 

She spoke bitterly, yet now respectfully, and walked 
past them out of the room. 

No one opposed her. Don Felipe was dumb with rage. 
His mother stood like some queen whose slave had braved 
her. Dr. Eeinhardt blew his nose on his huge cotton 
handkerchief preparatory to a pinch of snuff. 

Donna Catalina took a step forward with a choking cry. 
Her son sprang and caught her. 

'• A window, Eeinhardt — open a window. She has faint- 
ed !” he cried. 

In an agony of fear Agatha’s heart leaped up into her 
throat. 

“ Great Heaven ! I am discovered.” 

And filled with a blind, unreasoning panic at the 
thought of detection after what she had heard, she reck- 
lessly forced open the window and leaped out. 


65 


A GODDESS IN EXIIJEL J 


CHAPTER X. 

OATH-BOUND. 

Fortunately, contrary to Agatha’s fears, the window 
made no noise ; and if the sudden displacement of air 
caused the curtain to sway in the excitement it escaped 
notice. So, undetected, she sped over the velvet green- 
sward, until she gained the security of her own cham- 
ber, there to sink prostrate on the floor, not in a swoon, 
but so utterly exhausted and unnerved that she could not 
lift a Anger. 

Hour after hour she lay, throughout that endless night 
of torture, her mind racked by the phantoms of horrified 
conjecture, her body chained to utter helplessness, until 
the gray morning brought the odor of opening flower and 
the matin songs of birds. Then the fear of being found 
thus gave her strength to remove her clothes and creep 
into bed, where exhausted nature gave way at last, and 
she sank into a stupor, half-trance, half-slumber. 

About noon she roused, to find mammy at her bedside, 
regarding her anxiously. Refusing food, she begged only 
for solitude, and when she was alone, sank into a listless 
apathy, in which she took dreamy cognizance of the 
sounds in the house. Without being told, she knew that 
the last solemn rites were being said over his body. It 
did not rouse her. She could have no part with them. 
She lay wishing that death might terminate all her sor- 
rows and reunite her with him. 

Meanwhile a formal inquest had been held, a casket 
brought from Mobile, and in the spacious drawing-room of 
the Cypresses the obsequies of its master were partici- 
pated in by a minister from Biloxi, two or three legal 
gentlemen from Mobile, a handful of the neighboring 
planters, who had left their wives at home, Don Felipe 
and Dr. R6;jnhardt, while the slaves stood outside, appar- 
ently the only true mourners — but they were sad enough, 
all of them. 

It was left to inference that Donna Catalina’s absence 
was due to the shock which her years were ill-calculated 
to withstand. 


66 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


But let not one witness of this strangest of funeral ser- 
vices escape our notice, as it did that of the silent and 
gloomy men who sat each brooding: over his own thoughts. 
From behind a curtain peered the black, staring eyes of 
the elf-child whom Agatha had seen in the garden. Her 
now bloodless lips were apart; her sallow face was 
ghastly in its contrast with her jet black hair ; she seemed 
fascinated, frozen with horror, as her eyes went round 
upon that circle of lowering faces, to return again and 
again to the pall-draped coffin. She shuddered and shiv- 
ered, and trembled in every limb. 

The casket was not opened. There was no inspection 
of the dead. Most of those present had seen it in all its 
ghastly repulsiveness, while it lay on the beach. 

In silence the bier was lifted, and borne out where the 
slaves had formed in a double line on the other side of the 
avenue. At sight of the black mantle of death the women 
set up a wail of sorrow ; but Don Felipe swept upon 
them a scowl of such furious menace that the cry died 
out in a shudder of fear. 

This tribute of the lowly to one whom they had loved 
penetrated to where Agatha Malden lay in an agonized 
stupor, thrilling her into renewed activity. Springing 
from the bed, she parted the curtains of a window within 
whose prospect the gleam of memorial marble appeared 
among the drooping, vine-like branches of a clump of 
weeping willows. 

Winding slowly toward this place of rest, she saw that 
strange procession. 

“A funeral without the attendance of women !” she re- 
flected with a shudder. 

What curse rested upon this household, that they who 
are readiest to minister in , times of sore trial should so 
shun it ? 

So, while brain swam and knees tottered, she gazed 
until the solemn cortege had completed its mission to the 
dead. Then the planters broke up into knots of two or 
three, exchanging low-spoken words, and sending covert 
glances of sullen antipathy toward Don Felipe and toward 
the house, then mounted and rode slowly away. 

What did it all mean ? Agatha could only shudder with 
vague dread as she dragged her weak body back to bed. 

Could she stay in this terrible house ? she asked herself. 

Then like an inspiration came the thought : 

“Providence has set me in this labyrinth of mys- 
tery to right a great wrong. He is dead ; but I may lift a 


67 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 

cloud from his memory, and that consistently with my 
pledge. My love will strengthen me. Lead where it 
may, I will follow this blind fate to the end.” 

On the following morning she sent word to Donna Cata- 
lina that she was ready to enter upon her new duties, and 
soon after luncheon received the awaited summons. 

Piteous, pale, she entered the presence of my lady. 
With the air of a courtier Don Felipe advanced to lead 
her to a seat, his black eyes fastened upon her face with 
an intense gaze that filled her with disquietude. 

Dr. Reinhardt was also present, looking dull and stupid, 
as he always did when not angry. 

After a word of regret at the evident indisposition of 
her governess, Donna Catalina fixed her small black eyes 
on Agatha’s face, and at once broached the business in 
hand. 

“ You are prepared to expect somewhat unusual features 
in the position we offer you ?” she said. 

“Mr. Rawlinson explained that to me,” admitted Aga- 
tha, rather tremulously. 

“It is perhaps as well that circumstances have placed 
you in a position to make an intelligent choice. It is not 
too late to recede, if you think that the restrictions will 
prove too irksome. ” 

“Madam, I have made my election.” 

As Agatha’s face grew paler, so it became more reso- 
lute. 

Donna Catalina seemed satisfied, and made a sign to 
her son, who advanced and placed a Bible in Agatha’s 
tremulous hand. 

“ Do you swear, ” said Donna Catalina, “ not to invite 
or accept the confidence of any of the slaves or servants of 
this household or any of the neighbors, concerning the 
past history or present concerns of this family, nor to 
reveal, save before legal investigation, anything which 
may accidentally come to your knowledge ?” 

“I do,” replied Agatha, in a voice scarcely above a 
whisper. 

In that moment she was overshadowed by a presenti- 
ment of evil that seemed as if it would suffocate her ; 
but the wor(Js were said beyond recall. The gleam in Don 
Felipe’s ey^s, the icy smile on Donna Catalina’s thin lips, 
the bobbing of the head and grunt of satisfaction with 
which Dr. Reinhardt received the pledge — all made her 
feel as if she had sold herself to these dark, mysterious 
people. 


68 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Don Felipe received back the Bible. Donna Catalina 
touched a summons bell. 

The door opened. Mammy led in by the hand the elf- 
child to whom Agatha had had so novel an introduction 
in the garden. 

There was a strange, hushed look on mammy’s face, as 
if it were doubtful which of the three she feared most. 

But the great dark eyes of the child returned again and 
again to Don Felipe’s face, as if fascinated. 

Her sallow face was ghastly pale. She trembled in 
every nerve. It seemed that she scarcely dared to 
breathe. When Don Felipe advanced with an inscrutable 
smile to lead her to his mother, she gave him her hand 
with a gasp of fear. Agatha was shocked beyond ex- 
pression by the cowed demeanor of the child. 

The little one raised my lady’s hand to her lips, plainly 
a purely mechanical salute. 

Was there hatred in the cold unmoved glance which 
Donna Catalina bestowed on the child ? And with what 
strange speculation Dr. Reinhardt’s little pig-like eyes 
seemed to rest upon her. 

The icy horror closed more and more chill about Agatha 
Malden’s heart. 

“This,” said Donna Catalina, “ is your charge. Jacquita, 
salute your new governess. Miss Malden. ” 

The child hurried through the forms of greeting in that 
same breathless way, then paid no further heed to x^gatha, 
beside whose chair she remained standing, while her eyes 
went back to those of whom she seemed to stand in mor- 
tal dread. 

“ Mammy will show you your chamber, which adjoins 
that of your charge,” said Donna Catalina. “That entire 
wing of the house is at your disposal. Into the rest no 
one ever intrudes, unless summoned.” 

Thus began Agatha Malden’s strange new life. Through- 
out that day the strained, unnatural eagerness with which 
Jacquita complied with her slightest wish pained Agatha 
and deepened the shadow of portentous mystery which 
enveloped the Cypresses. But after the interval of two 
or three days the child’s natural perversity came back 
and promised to give her no little trouble. 

Agatha found that her little world contained only her- 
self, Jacquita, and the domestic servants. Her meetings 
with Don Felipe and Dr. Reinhardt were accidental, as 
she chanced to pass them in the halls, or in her walks out 
of doors. She never saw Donna Catalina unless sum- 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


69 


moned into her presence. No one ever visited the 
Cypresses, and the members of its household never went 
into society. 

In this strange seclusion Agatha found two solaces — a 
well-selected library and music. 

Into the piano she seemed to breathe her soul ; and the 
sad, wailing harmony which flowed from her unconscious 
flnger-tips proved the touchstone to the warped nature of 
her strange pupil. The child was fascinated, and from 
that time yielded through love what no coercion could 
have enforced. 

One night. Agatha sat thus absorbed, her thoughts on 
the shipwreck, the love she had found and lost in the 
same moment, and the man who lay out yonder, among 
the swaying willows. From the piano had come the roar 
of the winds, the roll of the thunder, the boom of the bil- 
lows lashing the rocky reef, the riving of timbers, the cry 
of the doomed wretches ; then the music had sunk into 
a low, sad requiem for the dead. Then her heart spoke, 
her eyes streaming tears. 

Accident carried her glance to a mirror. In it she saw 
reflected a window framing a white face with burning 
eyes flxed upon her. 

There was a crash of the keys as she sprang to her feet 
and whirled round. But the face was gone. 

Hers was a nature that is attracted by that which it 
fears. Urged by a force which she could not resist, she 
crossed the room and stepped through the window upon 
the veranda. 

Five minutes later mammy found her standing like a 
thing of stone, and staring forth into darkness. 

“Fo’ de Lo’d, honey, what’s de matter?” cried the dis- 
mayed negress. 

The girl gazed vacantly into the honest face that ap- 
pealed to her, then put her hand to her head like one 
coming out of a swoon, and with a sigh, answered : 

“Nothing, nothing.” 

Like a somnambulist she passed to her chamber, and 
there crouched with her face in the bed'-clothes, while her 
frame was shaken as with an ague chill. 

Had her imagination conjured the face of the man who 
so completely occupied her thoughts, or 

She ended with a shudder, 


70 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A STARTLING INTRUSION. 

Agatha Malden had come fully under the spell which 
overshadowed the household of the Cypresses. She had 
long fits of abstraction. Into her eyes had come that fur- 
tive watchfulness which she discovered in Jacquita’s 
glances whenever the child dreaded meeting Don Felipe. 
Even mammy betrayed this at times. 

As a sort of protection, Agatha sought to keep her pupil 
always near her. But there were times when her walks 
tended to that clump of willows which marked the burial- 
place of the Fentons. Then she sent Jacquita away on 
some pretext, and casting herself upon the last-made 
grave, gave vent to a grief that time failed to assuage. 

One afternoon she was thus occupied, when a deep sigh 
seemed to pervade the place. 

In affright she leaped to her feet and gazed about, trem- 
bling violently. It is proof of how deeply she had been 
imbued with the horror of her surroundings, that her first 
fear was not of the intrusion of the living upon her sacred 
secret, but of a visitation from the dead. The deep, un- 
broken silence seemed to confirm this superstitious fear, 
and feeling that her feet were weighted with lead, she es- 
sayed to totter from the spot, crying : 

“Jacquita! Jacquita!” 

“Coming, coming, coming !” shouted the child, gayly 
bounding forward like a young fawn. 

Agatha clung to her pupil, panting and ready to faint. 

“What is it? What is it?” asked the child, eagerly.. 

And while her eyes grew wilder and darker, she gazed 
past her governess at the last-formed mound. 

“Was it that ?” she asked, in a hushed whisper. “Did 
you see it? It was long and black. Ugh! I was so 
afraid. And they put it down in there, and covered it up. 
What was it ? Do you know. Miss Agatha ?” 

“ Hush, hush, child !” admonished the governess, ner- 
vously. “Come! let us go into the house. You haven’t 
had your music lesson to-day. ” 

Jacquita allowed herself to be drawn away ; but her 


A GODDESS /A EXILE, 


71 


great eyes were deep, and dark, and speculative, and she 
watched her governess furtively. 

Agatha shuddered from time to time, as she communed 
with her own thoughts. 

“They are but vagaries of my overwrought fancy,” she 
assured herself. “ But what am I coming to in this ter- 
rible house, if I see and hear things that have no real ex- 
istence ? 

Don Felipe was the only one who made any effort to 
afford Agatha entertainment, and relieve the depressing 
solitude of her life. He not infrequently rode to Mobile, 
and on his return his saddle-bags never failed to contain 
a remembrance in the form of a new book, new music, or 
the latest magazine, and papers from dear old Boston. He 
always managed to present these to her with his own 
hand, with an unobtrusive courtesy which gradually, 
almost imperceptibly, allayed her first strong prejudice 
against him. She could not forget that he had saved her 
life, though she attached no romantic importance to the 
fact. Then he was a superb horseman ; this alone won 
her admiration. She loved a horse, and the animal he 
bestrode as if born to the saddle was elegant in build and 
mettlesome in temper. 

On the day following that on which Agatha had been 
startled at the grave of him she had loved and lost, Don 
Felipe overtook her just as she was about to enter the 
house, returning from a walk. 

She paused on the veranda — her noble figure, her atti- 
tude of unconscious, queenly grace, calling to Don Felipe’s 
eyes a look which he was fain to hide beneath drooping 
lids, as he lifted his hat and saluted her with courtly 
ease. 

Swinging himself from the saddle, and leaving his reek- 
ing and mud-dappled, yet unjaded horse to the care of 
Pomp, he presented the expected package, with a few 
well-chosen words, and received Agatha’s graceful thanks, 
then added ; 

“ But you look pale and worn. I fear that you give too 
little time to out-of-door recreation. Will you allow me 
a suggestion? You must be a horsewoman — I think I see 
it in your eYe when you look at Invincible. By a lucky 
trade, day before yesterday, I secured a mare that ought 
to win the heart of any lady who could appreciate her 
points, and sent her on ahead of me. Have you seen her ? 
She is entirely at your service, if your will honor me by 


72 A GODDESS IN EXILE. 

using her ; and Pomp will be ready to attend you at all 
times.” 

He saw a faint color come into Agatha’s cheeks, and 
her eyes brightened ; and, before she could reply, he 
turned to Pomp and said : 

“Take Invincible to the stable, and bring I haven’t 

christened her yet,” he said, turning to Agatha, with a 
smile which changed the whole expression of his face. 
“You shall do it, if you will be so kind.” 

Pomp’s black face beamed with delight. Already he 
worshiped Agatha as some superior being — for herself 
now, as he had at first, because he believed that “ Massa 
Max must a-lubbed her. ” And now, as he hastened away, 
he mused : 

“Ef dar’s any hoss in dis hyer world what’s good ’nough 
fur her, fo’ de Lo’d high golly, it’s dat ’ar mar.” 

Amid Agatha’s enthusiasm arose graver doubts. Had 
Don Felipe bought this horse for her especial benefit ? A 
woman may be free from vanity, and yet perfectly aware 
of her power over the opposite sex. Don Felipe had dis- 
played nice tact ; and offering Pomp as her escort instead 
of himself made it easier for her to accept. 

He did not give her time to demur, but laughed gayly. 

“Not a word, until you have seen her. Let us change 
the subject.” 

And he talked rapidly and gracefully, until the sound 
of hoofs came from just around the corner of the house. 

Then, at the sight which met her eager gaze, Agatha 
impulsively clapped her hands and cried : 

“ Oh ! what a beauty !” 

“ Beauty let her be !” responded Don Felipe — “ you have 
said it. ” 

And indeed the creature was worthy her name. Her 
shapely head and curving neck, her symmetrical body 
and lithe legs, her flowing mane and tail, were speckless, 
spotless, snowy white, while her mouth and nostrils were 
a soft, shell-like pink. 

Trembling with delight— the first she had felt in that 
weird house— Agatha went down the steps, and took the 
head of the beautiful animal in her arms. 

“Oh ! you lovely creature !” she cried, with a thrill in 
her voice that shot through every nerve in Don Felipe’s 
body. 

Pomp stood too much in awe of his master to express 
his feelings in words ; but his whole body spoke the en- 
thusiasm that was consuming him. He was as restless as 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


73 


the mare, which never for an instant stood on all the four 
feet with which nature had provided her. But every 
movement of the animal was instinct with grace, to which 
poor Pomp was as effective a foil as could be conceived. 

Turning to the waiting Spaniard, Agatha said : 

“ It were impossible not to accept your courtesy, nor can 
I express the pleasure you have given me. ” 

Perhaps she would not have bent upon him that look, 
could she have seen her own face. 

A wave of crimson swept to Don Felipe’s brow, and 
receded as suddenly, as he bowed low before her, and 
said, in a voice which he struggled in vain to make 
steady : 

“I go to solitude and the enjoyment of the pleasure you 
have given me. ” 

Then, as if he could not trust himself further, he turned 
and entered the house. 

There was that in the eye of the Spaniard which in a 
calmer moment might have filled Agatha with misgivings ; 
but now Beauty claimed her attention ; and the moment his 
master’s back was turned. Pomp’s tongue was unloosed, 
as if by magic, and his deep devotion to Agatha and his 
admiration for the mare flowed forth in a perfect tor- 
rent of volubility. 

Would Agatha have given such free scope to her delight 
had she known that, screened in a thicket, a man was 
gazing upon her with a new pain and fear in his eyes, 
alternating with violent bursts of rage ? 

Being a woman herself, and mindful of her position, 
Agatha knew the expediency of submitting this new 
project to Donna Catalina. My lady graciously expressed 
herself pleased ; and a riding-habit was at once ordered 
from Mobile. 

Stationing himself where he could see her unobserved, 
Don Felipe awaited her first appearance in the saddle. 
The instant she was mounted, he cried : 

“Santissima Maria ! she is a goddess !” 

This new exercise was most salutary in its effects. Giv- 
ing tone to her whole system, it in a measure dissipated 
the nervous horrors to which Agatha was fast succumb- 
ing. \ 

Occasionally Don Felipe fell in with her and rode at her 
side. He was careful not to let these meetings occur too 
often, and to give them the appearance of accident. 

At last a day came when Donna Catalina fell ill — not so 
as to be confined to her bed, but a prey to some nervous 


74 A GODDESS IN EXILE. 

disorder, which made Agatha’s gentle ministrations most 
grateful. 

There were times when my lady seemed possessed by a 
perfect demon of unrest, when she would walk the floor 
incessantly, striking her hands together, holding her head 
between her palms in an attitude of despair, and giving 
vent to incoherent mutterings of seeming rage, and moans 
as of one whose conscience was on the rack. 

At such times she could not endure the sight of Dr. 
Reinhardt, but flew at him with almost tigerish fury, 
driving him from her presence. 

The face and manner of the German were a study. He 
yielded with never-failing forbearance ; but his smile 
made Agatha’s blood run cold. 

Don Felipe was on the lookout for these scenes, and as 
much as possible prevented Agatha from witnessing them. 
But in this, as in other strange things that came under 
her notice, no explanation or palliation was volunteered 
by any one. 

What was the mysterious secret that bound these three ? 
Was it some hidden crime? 

An old Spanish lute of exquisite richness of tone, sug- 
gested an expedient to Agatha. When she woke its 
chords and attuned her sweet voice to its harmony the 
effect was magical. Like Saul’s of old, Donna Catalina’s 
unquiet spirit yielded to the charm of music. 

It was a natural step from this to reading aloud, out of 
which grew up a new element of sociability in Agatha’s 
relations with this strange household. 

Subtly Don Felipe pressed this entering wedge, until 
blending his voice with Agatha’s, or alternating with her 
to a guitar accompaniment, for his mother’s entertain- 
ment, there were times when he joined her at the piano 
when Ddhna Catalina was not present. 

Dr. Reinhardt witnessed this growing intimacy with a 
jealous eye, and finally expostulated with Donna Cata- 
lina. 

“Vat iss dis? Are you as de mole blindt? Shall you 
leave dese two togedder ? He iss infatuate. It will ruin 
eff ery ting. ” 

“He is not a fool. He cannot sacrifice our interests and 
his own for a passing fancy. ” 

“ Ach, Gott ! Vomans make bigger fools as he I” 

“ What would you have me do ?” 

“Pack her avay, pack und packache.” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


75 


“And have him follow her? No, we must hurry mat- 
ters before it is too late.” 

Then followed a stormy scene with Don Felipe, in 
which he walked the floor like a caged lion, while Donna 
Catalina bent all her power to persuasion and entreaty, 
and Dr. Reinhardt vacillated between anger and oily 
tongued diplomacy. Apparently they conquered ; but 
after that the Spaniard’s eye glowed more intensely than 
ever when it rested on his mother’s governess. 

One evening Agatha sat at the piano, with no conscious- 
ness of the present. The room was lighted only by the 
silver moonlight that streamed in at the windows. Sit- 
ting thus, the sadness of her life crowded upon her, until 
the music ceased and she bowed her head upon the instru- 
ment. 

A moment later she was startled by the rustle of a 
woman’s draperies, and a figure all in white glided into 
the room and crouched at her feet. The hair also of this 
strange visitant, flowing loose below the waist, was as 
white as snow ; but in startling contrast were the great, 
staring, dark eyes which she raised to Agatha in a wild 
appeal, while she cried, in a quivering voice : 

“Oh, lady — dear lady! you are good! Your voice is 
like an angel’s. I have heard you singing, when awake 
and even in my dreams. Surely surely ” 

But here she was interrupted. There was a sound of 
hurrying feet, and into the room rushed Don Felipe. Dr. 
Reinhardt, Donna Catalina, and that strange faded 
woman whom Agatha had seen beside Max Fenton’s bier. 

With a shrill scream of terror, Agatha’s visitor fairly 
leaped into her lap and flung her arms about her neck, 
crying : 

“ Save me I Oh, save me from those monsters !” 


76 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

BESIDE HIS GRAVE. 

In wonder and dismay Agatha Malden gazed from the 
strange looking woman who had appealed to her for 
protection to the four who had followed her into the 
room. 

Never had she seen such an expression on Don Felipe’s 
face. It was fairly devilish in its rage and hatred as he 
fastened his glowing eyes upon the frightened creature 
who hid her face in Agatha’s bosom, while shudder after 
shudder ran through her frame. It seemed as if he could 
have annihilated her. 

But the look which he bent upon Agatha was one of 
pleading deprecation, alternating with despairing defi- 
ance. 

Dr. Reinhardt was simply angry, as was his nature 
when anything crossed his will. 

Donna Catalina started at sight of Agatha, then froze 
into stately displeasure. 

Last came Miss Carson. Her face was cold, impassive, 
motionless ; but her pale-blue eyes rested upon the poor 
hunted creature, with a dull glare of hatred that sent a 
chill of dread to Agatha’s heart. 

“ Miss Malden, you see that we are an afflicted house- 
hold,” said Don Felipe, in a husky, constrained voice, 
his manner plainly impugning the sanity of the woman 
she held in her arms. 

It struck Agatha as being the first time that any of them 
had deigned to offer an explanation of the strange events 
that so perplexed her. 

A gruff ejaculation from Dr. Reinhardt attracted her 
glance, and she caught a gesture of impatient disdain, 
whether in repudiation of Don Felipe’s insinuation 
against the woman, or scoffing at his deference to a mere 
governess, Agatha could not determine. 

“I beg your pardon I” said the Spaniard to Agatha, lay- 
ing his hand on the shoulder of the woman, whom he 
next addressed, in a voice vibrating between the rage 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


77 


he actually felt and the tender compassion he tried 
to simulate : 

“ Madalena !” 

And she, relaxing the spasmodic clutch about Agatha’s 
neck, and lifting her face from its hiding-place in her 
bosom, yielded to his touch, gazing up into his face with 
the same cowed submissiveness which had been so pain- 
ful in Jacquita, while she gasped : 

“Yes! Yes!” 

Don Felipe could not hide his chagrin at her too palpable 
terror, as he sought to avoid Agatha’s look of questioning 
wonder. 

Was there a ring of mockery in Dr. Eeinhardt’s voice? 
Certainly, something had replaced his dull, phlegmatic 
anger, as, resting his puffy fingers on the woman’s pulse, 
his touch sending a shiver through her slight frame, he 
exclaimed : 

“Ah I dis excitement !” 

Donna Catalina now interposed, with haughty impa-' 
tience. 

“ Do not waste time in words ! And you” — addressing 
Miss Carson not over-graciously — “ see if you can make 
amends for your remissness.” 

She waited for no response, but turned and swept from 
the room. Perhaps it was as well. Miss Carson deigned 
none — not even a glance, but in her cold immovability 
advanced and took her charge by the wrist with the sin- 
gle command : 

“Come!” 

Agatha gazed at this strange woman with an interest 
which Miss Carson did not in the least reciprocate. In- 
deed, she could not have ignored the governess more 
utterly had she been a mere piece of furniture. 

The last to quit the room, Don Felipe hesitated, as if 
about to add further explanation or apology, then checked 
himself, and, with a silent bow, left Agatha alone, her 
brain in a whirl of doubt and feari 

She heard him follow Donna Catalina and Dr. Eein- 
hardt to that favorite sitting-room, where my lady was 
surrounded^ by those relics which fostered her pride ; 
then she Sprang to the door and listened breathlessly to 
those other footsteps, which grew fainter and fainter, 
treading those corridors prohibited to the outer world, 
until the clang of a distant door cut them off altogether. 
Of that wing of the rambling house Agatha had seen only 


78 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


the outside, its walls overgrown with clematis, its win- 
dows screened by Venetian jalousies. 

What terrible secret did it hide so jealously? 

Assured that the corridors were free, Agatha hastened 
to her chamber, scarcely daring to look round. Here, 
with her door locked, she crouched down on a rug before 
the fire-place, where the crackling and aromatic blaze, as 
it shut out the chill and dampness of the storm, seemed 
also to banish from the magic circle of its home-likeness 
the brooding phantoms of fear and distrust. Into its 
flickering flame she gazed as if there to read the mystery 
which environed her. 

Was this, then, the secret of the Cypresses — one of its 
household gone mad ? Assume that shame lay back of 
this, and that this haughty family had shut themselves up 
in their humiliation, scorning human sympathy, until 
their neighbors had retaliated by shunning them. Much 
otherwise inexplicable might thus be made plain. 

But was that poor creature mad, after all? Was she 
young or old ? Her hair, as white as ever bore the frost 
of years, might have been silvered by sudden fright or 
corroding grief. As an offset to her extreme emaciation, 
to Agatha’s confused recollection her skin seemed to have 
been smooth and fair. Her eyes had certainly been wild 
enough when she made that spasmodic bound into the 
governess’ lap ; but might not fear of her pursuers amply 
account for that? But what did that abject terror imply? 

So pondered the perplexed governess, until suddenly 
she started with the thought that the eyes that had 
thrilled her so were like those of her pupil. 

A moment later she stood beside as dainty a bed as ever 
sheltered the untroubled sleep of childhood, comparing 
the face of elfish Jacquita with her recollection of her 
strange visitant. 

“ It must be ! it must be !” murmured she, half-aloud. 
“But if she is her mother, who is ” 

But she choked, all the blood left her face, and with 
heavy steps she returned to her own room, to crouch 
again before the fire, gazing into it dumbly. 

After that Don Felipe avoided Agatha, spending much 
of his time in the saddle, scouring the country as if pos- 
sessed of the demon of unrest. 

Donna Catalina deported herself as if nothing unusual 
had occurred. 

With a haunting sense of doubt added to the dull pain 
of bereavement, Agatha continued her visits to Max Fen- 


A GODDESS n EXILE. 19 

ton’s grave, bearing her tribute of flowers, until one day 
she was detected by Miss Carson. 

That strange woman gazed at her with eyes that seemed 
to turn fairly green, white spots appearing in either nos- 
tril, and her thin, bloodless lips quivering with jealous 
fury. 

She let Agatha leave the burial-lot unconscious that she 
had been spied upon, then sprang forward like some en- 
raged animal, tearing the flowers with her hands and 
trampling them under foot, while she gnashed her teeth 
and muttered inarticulate sounds. 

Finding a tuberose which she had dropped, Agatha re- 
turned to put this with the rest, and so came upon this 
fury at her work of desecration. 

At the same instant Miss Carson caught sight of the 
governess, and a sudden hush fell upon her. 

For a moment the two eyed each other — Agatha dis- 
mayed, Miss Carson deflant, yet in a measure cowed by 
the queen-like presence of her opponent. 

Then she rallied and came forward, stopping only when, 
she was so near to Agatha that they might have clasped 
hands. 

“What right have you here?” she demanded. “Who 
sanctioned the laying of your flowers on his grave ? They 
tell me that you were fellow-passengers in that thrice- 
accursed vessel which bore him to his death. Was he 
kind to you ? Did you delude yourself into believing that 
he cared for you beyond that courtesy which he showed 
to all w^omen ? If you did, let me undeceive you. He 
had no love to offer you — no honorable love. You had 
no right to look upon him living — dead, your grief is an 
insult to one whose privilege you usurp. Go ! Keep your 
flowers and tears. They have no place here.” 

Without waiting for a reply, she wheeled round, return- 
ing to the grave, and crouched down beside it. 

Shocked, bewildered, humiliated, the woman who never 
lacked courage when she was certain of her position hast- 
ened from the spot without a word. What reply could 
she make to such an arrangement, where the clouds of 
doubt and mystery lay fold on fold ? 

In an agqny of shame at being reminded of her woman- 
hood by siich a rival, her heart cried out to him for whom 
it nevertheless still beat in unwavering loyalty. 

“ Why — why did you leave me to such humiliation ?” 

“No honorable love,” had said the woman ; and Agatha 
recalled her words with a dull throb of pain. But instead 


80 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


of condemning him, she fell to pitying him with her whole 
heart. What malicious trick of fate had linked him with 
this reptile ? 

But a new shock awaited her. Unexpectedly she came 
upon Jacquita, who was weaving a wreath of leaves. 
Besides the child stood a man, in an ill-fitting sack coat, a 
slouch hat, and green spectacles, with a portfolio beneath 
his arm. His dress was that of some book-worm, in whose 
life the vanities of the world of action had no part ; but 
instead of the narrow chest and drooping shoulders which 
would have been in keeping, he had the form of an ath- 
lete, and stood erect, with kingly grace, as he gazed down 
upon the prattling child. 

The changing expression of his face instantly arrested 
Agatha’s attention. When the child looked up at him, he 
smiled kindly ; but when her eyes returned to her work 
— and this born coquette was perfectly at her ease, and 
made her conversation appear quite secondary to her 
trifing occupation — then his brows knitted and his lips 
worked. Was it with hatred of the child, or did her pretty 
arts recall some wound received from more mature hands 
than hers? 

While she gazed at the man, Agatha’s heart beat wildly 
— she did not know why. It was some minutes before she 
recollected her duty to prevent a stranger from plying the 
child with questions. 

Then she stepped forward, and said, in a voice which 
she in vain strove to render self-possessed : 

“ I beg your pardon, sir. , You are a friend of the fam- 
ily?” 

The man started so violently that the portfolio fell from 
beneath his arm, and, opening, discovered some botanical 
specimens. 

“No ! no ! God forbid !” he replied, in a deep, sonorous 
voice, which brought Agatha’s throat into her mouth. 
Then, suddenly recovering himself, he bowed low, stam- 
mering ; “I— I— beg your pardon, madam. Allow me to 
introduce myself as Dr. Hovey, of Cincinnati, sojourning 
in your beautiful South for my health, and just at present 
collecting specimens of the flora hereabouts, as you see, 
when I became interested in this bright child.” 

The first thing that Agatha noticed was a change in the 
stranger’s voice, after that involuntary outburst. Then, 
when he arose from that involuntary recovery of his 
portfolio, a stoop appeared in his shoulders, before so 
square. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


81 


Agatha felt sure that this man was playing a part — for 
what purpose she could not divine. It was but another 
mystery added to the rest. With a feeling something 
akin to terror, she stammered a few commonplaces, and 
said : 

“ I beg that you will excuse my pupil, sir, while she re- 
turns with me to her studies.” 

Then, taking Jacquita by the hand, she led the child 
hurriedly from the spot, while the man gazed after them 
with strangely set features. 

“What did he say to you?” asked Agatha, breathlessly, 
the moment she had her charge beyond earshot. 

“He asked me what my name was, and how old I was, 
and if I was making the wreath for my mamma,” replied 
Jacquita. 

“And you told him ” 

“ That I was six and a half, and that my name was Jac- 
quita, and that I hadn’t any mamma — have I, Miss Aga- 
tha ? Is Donna Catalina my mamma ?” 

“You must not talk about yourself to strangers, dear,” 
said Agatha, evading the child’s perplexing questions. 

But when she was alone the cloud of mystery seemed to 
hang lower and lower ; and, recalling the man who intro- 
duced himself as Dr. Hovey, an ague-like tremor spread 
through her frame. 

Far into the night she sat with her throbbing temples 
resting against the cool window ledge, revolving in her 
mind thoughts which she scarcely dared acknowledge to 
herself. 

Agatha Malden was now a prey to haunting doubts and 
fears, that robbed her nights of sleep, and filled her days 
with pain. Don Felipe watched the signs of failing 
health, grinding impotent oaths between his clenched 
teeth. 

“ Caramba ! why not scatter these accursed plots to the 
winds, and rescue her !” he muttered to himself. 

The piano was Agatha’s only solace. She told it her 
griefs, and it breathed back upon her heart the balm of 
its soothing harmony. 

From the tranquil reverie thus induced she was once 
again startled by the refiection of a face in a mirror. It 
was of a man, who, standing on the veranda so that the 
i ght from the moon illuminated his figure, extended his 
arms toward her, his face expressing a despairing love 
and longing. 

To her morbid fancy it seemed like an apparition from 


82 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


the grave. She could not look round. She could utter 
no sound. With her gaze chained upon the mirror, she 
rose slowly from the piano- stool. Then, as the figure 
suddenly vanished, the moon seemed to darken, and she 
swooned and fell. 

An instant later the face reappeared at the window, now 
looking anxiously and frightened. The man saw the 
woman lying motionless on the carpet, and with a low 
cry, he swept aside the lace curtain, sprang into the 
room, and knelt by her side. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


83 


CHAPTER XIII. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

But his purpose was cut short by. the sound of some one 
approaching. He sprang to his feet, as if for instant 
flight ; stood a moment irresolute, almost deflant ; then 
hastily snatching up a handkerchief which had fallen 
from Agatha’s nerveless hand, glided noiselessly from the 
room, as he had come. 

Almost on the instant Don Felipe entered, saw Agatha, 
and sprang to her with a great cry of rage and remorseful 
tenderness. 

“ Help ! help !” rang out the cry. “ Santissima Maria ! 
we have killed her between us ! A thousand million 
curses on the damnable mysteries that are breaking her 
heart !” 

He caught her in a fierce embrace, and pressed burning 
kisses on her brow, eyelids, and even those pale, unre- 
sponsive lips. 

In answer to his cry Donna Catalina and Dr. Reinhardt 
appeared. My lady uttered a cry of intense rage, as she 
took in the situation. Dr. Reinhardt sprang forward, 
and put his hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. 

“ Donnerwetter !” he cried, “have you lost your head off 
you shoulders already? Vat means dis tarn ” 

“It means,” cried Don Felipe, rising from his kneeling 
posture and lifting Agatha in his arms, “that from this 
moment I abandon you and your infernal plots ! See what 
effect has been wrought by constant doubt and fear upon 
one a hair of whose head is worth more than all this house 
ever has or ever will hold, apart from her Now and for- 
ever I renounce all else for the hopes of winning her. My 
darling — my darling !” 

And bending over her with a fierce, tigerish tenderness, 
he bore her^and laid her on a sofa. 

At the disaffection of his accomplice in crime Dr. Rein- 
hardt shrank back, seeming to draw within himself. His 
phlegmatic face took on a look of dull, yet deadly, ferocity. 
There was murder in his little, pig-like eyes. He looked 
like one who would strike silently, yet with the fatal cer- 


84 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


tainty of the cobra. But Dontia Catalina sprang forward 
and grasped her son’s arm, saying : 

“ Fie ! Felipe, you cannot — you shall not do this mad 
thing !” 

“ But I can, and will !” retorted the Spaniard, his blood 
aflame. 

“What ! after all wp have risked ? And if you are will- 
ing to forego your own prospects for a smile from your 
mother’s governess, have we no claim on your plighted 
word ?” 

“Bah ! don’t prate about claims !” sneered Don Felipe. 
“ What do I care for you, or you for me, when I have 
served your turn as cat’s-paw? As for the smiles that 
you depreciate, they are the only things in the world 
worth anything in my eyes. I love her. My God ! I did 
not know that one could so lose his soul to another !” 

And kneeling beside the sofa, he put his arms about the 
unconscious girl, murmuring : 

“ This is all I ask of earth or heaven.” 

“ Then seek the only means that will afford you even a 
shadow of hope of attaining it, ” said Donna Catalina. 

“How?” asked her son, without turning his gaze from 
the loved one. 

“ By serving us first !” 

“ Ha ! ha ! A glorious plan !” sneered the Spaniard. 
“ Gain her by placing her forever out of my reach !” 

“Not forever,” said Donna Catalina, insinuatingly. 
“You will soon be free.” 

“Bah! she is a woman! Do you fancy that, having 
seen her, I could build up that barrier before her very 
eyes, and then, when it was removed, give her the second 
place? Oh, no — I know her proud nature better than 
that. Men give up earth and heaven for such as she. 
Let me go to her and say : ‘ All worldly advantage I 
gladly sacrifice on the alter of my devotion. I bring you 
only a stout heart and ready hands, sanctified by such 
love as man never bore to woman !’ That may touch her, 
and make me a little more worthy of her.” 

“And you will do this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Goto her a poor man? I warn you ! Not a dollar — 
not a cent ” 

Donna Catalina was swelling— choking— with restrained 
wrath. 

Her son laughed disdainfully. 

“Dross ! dross !” he said. “I would rather work in the 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


85 


fields for her, than < sit beside that other — faugh — on the 
proudest throne in Christendom !” 

“Work!” cried Donna Catalina, in horror — “the busi- 
ness of slaves 1” 

“Ay I a slave to my love !” cried Don Felipe. “But she 
is of the North, where labor is held in honor. She will not 
despise me, but the rather love me more, that I buy her 
love at such a price.” 

“You have given much time to the analysis of her char- 
acter, it seems, ” sneered Donna Catalina. 

“ Every moment since my eyes were blessed by the sight 
of her !” cried the Spaniard. 

“Then know that I, too, have studied her !” cried Donna 
Catalina, now giving the leash to her anger. 

Don Felipe looked round. 

“To what purpose?” he asked slowly, while he sought 
to read the passion-drawn face of his mother. 

“To this purpose — that if you fail me, I will kill your 
hopes !” 

Don Felipe rose to his feet and turned from the sofa, to 
face the woman whose intense passion seemed to add 
inches to her stature. 

“ Kill my hopes ?” repeated her son — “ with her ?” 

“Yes.” 

“You dare not ! You cannot, if you would I” 

It was now Donna Catalina’s turn to laugh in scorn. 

“ Dare not ? I come from a race that dares do anything ! 
Cannot ? Are you so blind as to suppose that, even if she 
loved you as desperately as you appear to love her — which 
is doubtful — she would give herself to a man who had lent 
himself to a scheme such as that which you have brought 
almost to its consummation ? I doubt not that what we 
hold a mere peccadillo, comes, in her code, under the de- 
nomination of an infamy 1” 

“ And who will tell her this ?” asked Don Felipe, draw- 
ing his breath hard between his clenched teeth. 

“ I !” declared Donna Catalina. 

“You?” 

“I swear it !” 

As she spoke she raised her hand toward heaven. Her 
towering %)irit spread out of and beyond her small stat- 
ure. No man could look upon her unmoved. There spoke 
the haughty pride, the dauntless courage of that Castile 
which once sat mistress of the world. 

A dull glow of gratification spread over Dr. Reinhardt’s 


86 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


face, as he saw Don Felipe’s eye sink before the glittering, 
steadfast orbs of his relative. 

“You are my mother !” said her son, in a hoarse, rasp- 
ing voice. “ Therein lies your strength and my weak- 
ness. I cannot strike you. I must submit quietly to the 
blow you find it in your heart to deal me.” 

“Felipe,” said his mother, who, like a skillful general, 
did not press her victory when more was to be gained by 
forbearance, “I have no desire to injure you ; but I can- 
not stand passive and see the scheme of my life frustrated 
by a passing folly. Dio mio !” she continued, with a surge 
of passionate bitterness, “have I not suffered disappoint- 
ment enough? The malignanc fiends have ever snatched 
the cup from my lips just as I was about to quaff the nee-, 
tar I had so toiled to wring from churlish fate. Felipe, 
the guerdon is just within our grasp. One step more, 
and ” 

“ Enough !” cried the Spaniard. “ I recognize your 
power ; and I learned your inflexible will in childhood.” 

Then, whirling upon Dr. Reinhardt like an incarnate 
fury, he hissed through his clenched teeth : 

“But, hark you ! If you fail in your part of this ac- 
cursed scheme — if you do not act right speedily, too — I 
will — I will ” 

But passion choked him ; his features worked diaboli- 
cally ; his fingers wriggled like serpents — plainly they 
itched to compass the bull-neck of the man he hated and 
feared, as only accomplices in crime can hate and fear 
each other. 

Dr. Reinhardt laughed, a low, villainous chuckle. 

“No dancher dot I fool you, my dear don,” he said, “ ven 
my own porridge iss in de same bowl mit yours — aha !” 

“ Then let us have the accursed thing over at once !” 

“To-morrow, if you wish.” 

“ Can it be done ?” 

“No doubt.” 

Don Felipe trembled violently. Great beads of swedli 
started on his forehead. He gazed at the unconscious 
Agatha with longing and despair in his eyes. At the con- 
clusion of a mighty struggle, he indicated his acquies- 
cence only by implication. In a voice so hoarse as to be 
only a husky whisper, he said to Dr. Reinhardt : 

“ Show her every care that her situation demands. She 
has lain thus too long already. And , mark you ! if you 
dare to harm a hair of her head, I will kill you— so help 
me Heaven I” ^ - 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


87 


Then he was gone. ^ * 

On the following day Dr. Reinhardt presented himself 
before Agatha, who was pale and nervous to a degree that 
would have alarmed one who loved her. 

“ Donna Catalina requests your presence in a matter of 
grave importance,” he said. “I beg dot you allow me to 
escort you at vonce. ” 

Wondering, and vaguely apprehensive, Agatha followed 
him. With quickening fears, she found herself threading 
those corridors which had hitherto been prohibited to her. 
She found that part of the house had every appearance 
of being unused. 

In the last corridor which they entered, her guide passed 
all the doors which, opened from its sides, and kept on to 
the end, which had the appearance of a window that had 
been walled up on the outside. Touching a secret spring, 
he caused the whole window, which was indeed a cun- 
ningly disguised door, to swing open. 

Agatha perceived an exquisite odor, like the perfume of 
tropical flowers, and heard the musical trill of several 
birds ; then, impressed with great awe, gazed into the 
darkened room beyond. What new mystery, or unfolding 
of those past, awaited her across that threshold ? 


88 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

A VIPER SPURNED. 

Thoroughly mystified, and harboring certain reflections 
in disparagement of Southern tomfoolery as compared 
with Northern common sense, Horace Warwick returned 
to Mobile, to a not agreeable task of dissimulation, while 
he listened to May’s condolence for the loss of his friend. 

A less pampered wife would have taxed him more 
severely for reasons why she should not attend Max’s 
funeral. May accepted as a matter of course his solici- 
tude to shield her from everything in the least degree 
painful. 

So days and weeks passed, Horace seeing Max occasion- 
ally, yet still excluded from his confidence. Max grew 
haggard, with a settled frown of gloom, and a bitter, 
cynicism making its appearance in his speech. 

“I tell you, my boy,” expostulated Horace, “you are 
in a bad way. This sort of thing is all well enough in its 
proper place — on the stage, where it gives rise to very 
pretty situations in the last act ; but no good ever came of 
dragging the sock and buskin into real life. Just look at 
me — a mere supernumerary in the drama. If one in so 
subordinate a position is forced into enough prevarication 
to sink him in the conjugal Tophet, what is to be expected 
in the case of the leading ” 

“Horace,” interrupted Max, “if you had before your 
eyes what I have before mine, you would find nothing to 
laugh at ” 

“Max, forgive me, old fellow. You know it is my so- 
licitude for you. I see you over head and ears in trouble, 
and you hold me at arm’s length, when you know I’m 
ready to fight for you shoulder to shoulder.” 

“Just as you jumped into the sea after me and pulled 
me out,” said Max, with a sad smile. 

Then the friends clasped hands. The tie between them 
was closer than that which links most brothers. Horace 
looked wistfully at his alter ego. 

“Max,” he said, “you know that in the old college days, 
while you were befogging yourself in cloudland, I was 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


89 


content with things^ of the earth earthy. Can’t I now 
cut your Gordian knot with a single stroke of every-day 
practicality ? While you idealistic people are weighing 
nice shades of motives and carefully walking round mole- 
hills, a common-sense fellow clears the rubbish out of his 
path with a clean sweep. Depend upon it, Max, there’s 
nothing like the direct way— the way that lies open to the 
clear sunlight.” 

But to this earnest appeal Max Fenton shook his head. 

“Not yet,” he said. “But bear with me a little longer. 
The time may come, and that very soon, when I shall call 
upon you.” 

During th6se days Max had watched Agatha’s associa- 
tion with Don Felipe with an agony of conflicting emotions 
beyond words to describe. He grew fairly savage. 

It was a bad tinae for Perkins to prefer his claims. But 
lying in hiding, with a prospect of indeflnite continuance 
in the future, tlae valet grew impatient over the apparent 
dead-lock. 

“ If ’e’ll give me a divvy as’ll keep me like a gentleman 
w’ile I wait ’s motions, ’e’ll And me to ’is ’and,” was his 
soliloquy. “But the money I took care to clap my ’ooks 
on aboard that.bloody boat won’t last forever ; and if I 
don’t feed my pocket-book. I’ll soon be ’unting my hown 
grub !” 

Urged by this necessity, he presented himself before 
Max, away from the sight of men, yet within calling dis- 
tance of a planter’s house, since he did not care to run too 
great a risk of being murdered by a desperate man. 

“My respects to you, sir,” he said, “and it's ’oping 
you’re recovered ” 

But he got no further. The sight of him was to Max 
what a red rag is to an angry bull. 

“ You yet alive !” he said, advancing upon him threaten- 
ingly. “ And you have dared to dog my steps ?” 

The thought that darted through his brain, making his 
eyes blaze, was : 

“ This wretch holds my secret.” 

“’Old on, sir — ’old on!” deprecated Perkins, backing 
away in alarm. “ Remember, sir, that I saved your life. 
I lashed you tee the spar w’en you was hall but drownded. 
Hask Mr. Warwick ’ow ’e found you, sir.” 

“ What do you want of me ?” demanded Max, checking 
his aggressive movements, yet abating none of his writh- 
ing detestation of the paltry knave who cringed before 
him. 


90 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“Well, sir, I leave it to your generosity to say ’ow much 
it shall be ; but w’at I’m basking is a little divvy as’ll 
keep me, sir, till such time as you sees fit to step into the 
shoes of my late master — as we hall regret ’is untimely 
taking-off. ” 

And having delivered this last clause with an affected 
whine, the cockney had the insolence to thrust his tongue 
into his cheek and grin his enjoyment of the joke — an un- 
lucky pleasantry, apparently, for, bursting with indigna- 
tion, Max sprang toward him, shouting : 

“ You infamous scoundrel !” 

But the valet dodged behind a tree, and then took refuge 
back of a bramble-bush, across which he viewed his ad- 
versary with angry defiance, soliloquizing : 

“ ’E’s too ’igh and mighty, is ’e, to ’obnob with a valet. 
W’en I says by my little joke as there’s a pair of us, ’e 
thinks as it’s demeaning to a bloody convict, does ’e ? 
Well, valet or no valet, I’m man enough to take ’im down 
a peg or two before we’re quits ! 

“Look a ’ere, sir,” he continued, aloud, with an insolent 
swagger, “ I’ve stood a good deal o’ nonsense from you. 
But just remember that a word from me will ’ang you 
’igher than ’Aman. Eemember the stateroom No. 4, 
w’en my late master went in, and never came hout again, 
alive ! Remember the hanxiety of certain ’igh officials to 
learn your w’ereabouts. But, most of all, remember that 
we’re within call of yonder house, and you can’t kill me 
’ere, as you might ’ave done in the cabin of the wreck. 
Now, don’t you think as ’ow it’ll pay you to treat me 
civil, and fork over that little divvy ? — as is hall I axes of 
you, sir, until you get the big ’aul.” 

In the last clause the plausible Perkins dropped his in- 
solent bluster for a tone of conciliatory respectfulness. 
But it had no effect on the man he had braved. His con- 
suming anger, his scathing disdain, found vent in but two 
words : 

“ This, viper !” 

Then with a bound he cleared the intervening bush, and 
seized the luckless valet by the throat. 

Perkins wore the English neckerchief, and as Max fas- 
tened his grip upon it and twisted it round, it formed a 
tourniquet, which forced the eyes of the valet to protrude 
from their sockets and turned his face into a purple hor- 
ror. Unable to appeal in words, the wretch fell upon his 
knees and lifted his clasped hands. 

With sudden predominance of contempt over anger, his 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. ] 91 

assailant hurled him from him, to sprawl gasping on the 
ground. 

“ Hark you !” he cried. “ I can’t bring myself to crush 
so mean a thing as you — not yet. But if you ever dare to 
present yourself before me again, you may tempt me too 
far. ” 

With that he strode away, not deigning to look back. 

Perkins rose to a sitting posture and shook his fist after 
him. 

“W’en you do see me again,” he snarled, “I’ll ’old the 
rope-end, my covey. I’ll give you your swing until you 
get hall the pins up. Then I’ll drop on you.” 

Had the living Max Fenton made a mistake in braving 
the enmity of this creature whom he so utterly despised ? 
If Agatha Malden’s heart accepted him for what he pro- 
fessed to be, would the condemned valet, at the last mo- 
ment, strip off the mask, and show her the escaped con- 
vict, the murderer, .where she believed that she was 
about to enshrine her heart’s idol in her temple of life? 

Later, a wave of excitement swept over the community, 
fixing all eyes upon the House of Mystery. 

Then the knotted veins stood out on Max Fenton’s fore- 
head, and his eyes glowed with the fires of a consuming 
hate, while he cried within himself. 

“Proof! proof! — most damning proof! Ah! the very 
heavens could riot withhold their lightnings, but struck 
the offender in the accursed act !” 

But later, in the gossip that busied every tongue — gos- 
sip to which he was forced to listen as a stranger — he 
heard things that bore to his ear an intelligence which 
they did not have in the consciousness of the speakers. 
They chilled the fever of his blood ; and a great horror 
and a great dread fell upon him. Again he cried, but 
with a far different sense : 

“ Can it be ? Have I stood aloof until — until — My God ! 
Did I unwittingly present the temptation by making such 
a horror possible ?” 

Then he rushed off to Horace Warwick, and with the air 
almost of a madman, cried : 

“ Now the time has come !” 

“ Max ! Max ! my dear fellow !” cried Horace, greatly 
shocked, “what\s this?— what can I do for you? 

“ You can help me to unearth— God help me— I fear— a 
murder I” 


92 


A QODDESIS IN EXILE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE DEAD BRIDE. 

The room into which Agatha was introduced was a 
lady’s boudoir of most elegant appointments. Indian 
matting covered the floor. The walls, of a creamy tint, 
were hung with several masterpieces of the painter’s art, 
which evidenced great delicacy of taste. The furniture, 
gilt as to its woodwork, and upholstered in satin, was all 
exquisitely dainty. Books there were, an easel, now 
vailed, and a frame for needle- work, but no musical in- 
strument of any kind. 

Through an arch- way, the curtain of which was par- 
tially drawn, Agatha saw into a small conservatory, 
which was also an avairy, whence came the sweet sounds 
and odors that had greeted her on the threshold of this 
hidden Paradise. 

The occupants of the room were Don Felipe, his mother, 
and a stranger, evidently a clergyman. 

Don Felipe, pale and nervous, greeted Agatha with a 
constrained bow, thereafter plainly avoiding her glance. 

Donna Catalina presented the divine, with several de- 
grees of frigidity added to her accustomed icy stateliness. 

The reverend gentleman was very old and very benign. 
His voice was soft and low. Agatha decided at once that 
he was as good as he was simple-minded. After his 
fatherly greeting, Don Felipe’s voice broke upon the ear 
like the clang of an iron bell. 

“Everything is in readiness ?” he asked, brusquely, of 
his mother. 

Donna Catalina bowed assent. 

With a gesture which said, “Let us have done with it, 
then, ” he swept aside a curtain which slid on rings across 
a bar, in the antique style, before the entrance to an inner 
apartment. 

Here the softest rose-tint prevailed. The furniture was 
enameled, to look like ivory. Toilet articles of most ex- 
quisite daintiness lay on the dressing Wreau. Every- 
where trifles of bijouterie with which a fairy might have 
adorned her bower 


A GODDESS IN EXILZ 


93 


On the low bed, amid downy pillows, reclined the 
strange creature whom Agatha had heard addressed as 
Madalena. 

Standing near the head of the bed. Miss Carson gently 
waved a fan of white feathers. 

Tn the obscurity, almost darkness, of the chamber, Aga- 
tha, from her position near the door, could see that Mada- 
lena’s eyes were closed, and her face pale as death. The 
gentle rise and fall of her bosom beneath its covering of 
lace were just perceptible. 

Dr. Reinhardt felt the pulse of his patient, gazing with 
apparent earnestness into her face. Then he went to Don 
Felipe, and whispered something. 

The Spaniard started perceptibly. 

“Lose no time,” he said, just loud enough to reach the 
ears of all in the room. 

Then, with what was meant for a look of distress, he 
moved hastily to the bedside, and took Madalena’ s hand. 

“ Madalena ! Madalena !” he called, gently. 

The woman opened her eyes. Agatha could see this, 
they were so large and dark, in such striking contrast 
with her pale face and white hair — then the heavy lids 
fell back. 

A sense of icy horror began to creep over Agatha. 
What was about to take place? A wedding, evidently. 
But between that dark-browed Spaniard and the helpless 
creature, of whose abject fear of him she had witnessed 
so startling a manifestation ? And that look. Not the 
glance of an expectant young bride. It was as if the eyes 
had closed to shut out a vision they feared to look upon. 

But Dr. Reinhardt held a teaspoon to her lips. She 
swallowed its contents without resistance. Then he felt 
of her pulse again. To Agatha her breath seemed to come 
fainter and fainter. Was she dying? 

Don Felipe’s agitation was painful to witness. He 
gnawed his lips and wrung his hands. Great beads of 
sweat stood on his forehead. He trembled perceptibly. 

Did he really love this woman after all ? Agatha asked 
herself. Then what had been the meaning of the passion- 
ate glances which he had bent upon her ? These contradict- 
ing emotions seemed as genuine in one case as in the other. 
More and mor^' intricate became this labyrinth of doubt. 

But Dr. Reinhardt addressed the minister. 

“We must proceed at once. She is sinking fast.” 

Then all took their places, Don Felipe at one side of the 
bed, near the head, and Miss Carson slowly waving her 


94 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


fan opposite to him. Donna Catalina stood next her son ; 
Dr. Reinhardt a little apart, yet where he could watch 
the slightest change in his patient. 

The minister stood at the foot of the bed. Agatha re- 
mained where she had been stationed, near the door. 

Then the marriage service of the Episcopal Church 
began. 

Agatha wondered at this, since both parties to the cere- 
mony were Spaniards, and, natural to suppose. Catholics ; 
but this was only one more mystery. 

As the ceremony progressed Agatha was wrought 
almost to a frenzy of fear. The responses of the bride 
were so faint as scarcely to be audible. Agatha could not 
see her lips move. Never once did she open her eyes, nor 
move a muscle, save for her slow respiration, which was 
so faint that Agatha would have thought that she had 
ceased to breathe altogether, but that she seemed suffi- 
ciently conscious to reply when it was required of her. 
But this dreadful doubt kept Agatha on the rack. Was this 
woman being married of her own free will, or had these 
dark plotters terrorized her, persisting in their cruel pur- 
pose until , they crushed out her life ? When the clergy- 
man conjured those to speak, if any knew cause why these 
two should not be joined in holy wedlock, Agatha could 
scarcely repress the cry that rose to her lips. But the 
silence was unbroken, and the two were pronounced one 
flesh. 

Don Felipe bent forward, as if to kiss his bride, but 
stopped suddenly, with a sharp ejaculation, then turned 
and cried : 

“Reinhardt! Reinhardt!” 

The German sprang forward, for once apparently 
startled out of his phlegm. He caught the hand of his pa- 
tient nearest him, Don Felipe having hold of the other. 

Then all present received a terrible shock. The newly 
made wife writhed as if in a convulsion, drawing up her 
knees and half-rising. Her face was contorted, her eyes 
opened, and flxed upon Don Felipe a terrible look. 

The Spaniard dropped her hand, and started back with 
a cry of terror. 

At the same instant, Madalena fell back among her pil- 
lows, and her jaw dropped. 

With a skillful twitch Miss Carson tossed the silken 
coverlet over the hand Don Felipe had dropped, and was 
rewarded by a lightning glance of approval from Dr. Rein- 
hardt. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


05 


No one detected what she had so cleverly hidden — a 
strange thing for such a place — an insulated wire ! Hence, 
no one suspected that a strong current of electricity had 
been passed through Madalena’s body, with such startling 
effect as to unnerve Don Felipe. 

He staggered back with his clammy hands covering his 
ghastly face. 

Dr. Reinhardt put his ear to the heart of his patient. 
Then he rose with a look which left nothing for words. 

The minister extended his hands over the bed as in 
benediction, and said, solemnly : 

“My friends, we are in the presence of the Great Mys- 
tery. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. 
Blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

In this scene Donna Catalina had taken no active part. 

She was still and white, her black eyes glowing with 
unnatural brilliancy. 

Agatha went to her, herself shocked beyond expression, 

Donna Catalina waved her back. 

“Thank you,” she said, in her regal way. “Your pres- 
ence is no longer required. I beg you to retire. ” 

Was she so hard that even death could not soften her? 
Agatha shrank from her with a stronger sense of repulsion 
than ever before, and hurried from the room. 

She was followed by the clergyman. 

The moment the door of the outer apartment closed after 
them Dr. Reinhardt exclaimed : 

“ Ah ! you nearly betrayed us. ” 

“ Betrayed you ?” cried Don Felipe. “ Why did you not 
prepare me for your devil’s trick ? Carajo !” 

Dr. Reinhardt laughed. 

“ It giff s us evidence dot she is alive after de ceremony, 
eh? You haf no nerve. Miss Carson shames you. Ah! 
my dear, dot vas vone clever jerk of de bet-cover. Goot I 
goot !” 

And the German bobbed his head repeatedly in ap- 
proval. 

The only one who had remained wholly unmoved during 
that terrible scene. Miss Carson, now disdained to notice 
the doctor’s admiration of her cool self-possession. 

“You are fi^ee,” said Dr. Reinhardt, to Don Felipe. 
“Go, marry your governess. You are free 1” 

“And you killed her with that shock?” cried Don Fe- 
lipe, glaring at the other. 

“’Shi ’shl” admonished the German, coolly. “You 


96 A GODDESS IN EXILE. 

know nothing of science. I only put into her momentary 
life.” 

“And she was dead before?” his eyes dilating with in- 
creased horror. 

“ Ach, Gott !” cried the doctor, impatiently. “ Shall I 
begin your education anew? Enough — you are free. De 
funeral vill be in tree days. Ha, ha ! ve are rich — you, 
Don Felipe Carrera — I, Dr. Gustave Eeinhardt. Donna 
Catalina, I salute you. Miss Carson, you haf a bank ac- 
count. Ha ! ha I Ha ! ha !” 

And he rubbed his hands in ghoulish glee. 

Don Felipe and his mother were plainly shocked by this 
ruthless brutality. Miss Carson was as unmoved as a 
block of marble. 

“If the gentlemen will withdraw,” she said, “I will 
prepare the body for the coffin.” 

Don Felipe started and shuddered, gazing at the woman 
in horror. His mother sank, faint, in a chair. Dr. Eein- 
hardt gazed from one to the other with a sneering smile. 
Then he turned to Miss Carson and said : 

“My dear, you ought to liff in de olden time, ven vomen 
don’t scream at de sight of blood, und men don’t got 
dot chicken heart. ” 

He bowed himself out, following Don Felipe and his 
mother. His last words, while he paused in the arched 
door- way, were : 

“ I shall fall in love mit you. Lady Macbeth, if ve haf 
many scenes like dis.” 

But, not heeding his half-bantering, half-sincere admi- 
ration, she stood gazing down at the motionless figure on 
the bed. 

“Are we quits?” she asked. “Whether I have fully 
repaid you or not, our vendetta must end here. I cannot 
follow you beyond the grave. You had youth, beauty, 
wealth, station ; I had ugliness, poverty, and— and my 
great love. A-a-ah !” a terrible cry of impotent fury, 
“even now- you vanquish me ! You go to lie beside him. 
I am forever banished !” 

And this woman who was ice to all the world wound 
her fingers in the hair of her helpless rival and spat in her 
white, unconscious face. 

“No! no! you are beyond my reach!” she cried, im- 
pressed with the impotence of her rage. “I cannot follow 
you beyond the grave. Why— why did I allow them to 
snatch you from my revenge ? I have reunited you with 
him.” 


97 


A Q oddest IN EXILE. 

And suddenly breaking down, this strange woman grov- 
eled on the floor, tearing her hair and moaning and sob- 
bing like some demented creature. 

When she appeared again before the world there were 
no traces of this. 

Although nothing was said to her, Agatha knew that 
the announcement of the death of the recluse or prisoner 
(she did not know which) of the Cypresses caused a wave 
of excitement through that part of the country. People 
whom she had never before seen appeared loitering about 
the vicinity, with no apparent object save to stare at the 
house. It was plain, too, that the slaves on the place had 
been ignorant of the presence of the woman lately de- 
ceased. They looked frightened, and brought down upon 
themselves many a curse, and even blows, from their 
overseers, by whispering together. 

Unlike Max Fenton’s, this funeral was attended by 
women whose obtrusive curiosity was only too appar- 
ent. Agatha found that she was regarded with suspicion, 
almost with hatred, as well as curiosity. 

Jacquita, wide-eyed and trembling, clung to Agatha’s 
side. The child seemed to elicit pity from the women, 
who looked at her as if she were a natural curiosity. 

Don Felipe’s rage at all this was unconcealed. His 
mother was queen-like in her disdain. Dr. Reinhardt 
looked only sleepy, but covertly he was as watchful as a 
lynx. Miss Carson, as was her wont, appeared vailed. 

So Madalena was buried, and the inquisitive public took 
its departure. Only one seemed to have annoyed Don Fe- 
lipe beyond the rest, perhaps because he was a stranger. 

Who is that ?” he had asked testily of Dr. Reinhardt, 
and the German had replied : 

“Dot? — dot iss a naturalist, stopping at Biloxi — Dr. 
Hovey.” 

Agatha, too, had observed the man, and thought that 
she detected in him strong agitation held under control. 
Who, what was he ? 

That night Pomp was summoned by his master, given 
a shot-gun, and told to watch the new-made grave. 

“Dah, Massa Felippy?” he asked, his eyes widening 
with superstitious dread. 

“Yes, there,” said the Spaniard. “And, hark you, 
shoot any one who attempts to approach this grave. Do 
you understand ?” 

“Massy Fillipy,” said Pomp, recovering some of his 


98 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


natural courage, “dah won’t no libin’ critter come foolin’ 
’roun’ hyer, el dah don’t no ghos’es come — dat’s sho’ !” 

That night Agatha could find no respite from the haunt- 
ing specters of doubt. Her heated fancy pictured such 
terrible things that she began to be almost afraid of her- 
self. Sleep was out of the question, as she sat at her win- 
dow, trying to calm herself by contemplation of the em- 
purpled, star-gemmed southern sky. 

But then came a thing of horror — the report of fire- 
arms, followed by a scream. It came from the clump of 
willows wherein they had that day laid that strangest of 
brides. 

In an instant Agatha was on her feet, attracted to that 
dread spot as if by fascination. Now there was a wild 
agony in her soul which she had never experienced before. 

Though no sound passed her white lips, her heart 
seemed to cry out : 

“I am coming ! I am coming !” 

Out of her room she fiew along the corridor, and down 
the stairs. Just as her hand was on the door-knob, she 
heard some one spring up the veranda steps ; the door was 
torn open, screening her as she stepped back, and in- 
stantly banged to again, having given admittance to a 
man whose heavy breathing showed that he had been run- 
ning. 

It was as dark as Erebus in the hall ; but after a few 
stumbling steps, the intruder threw open the door of the 
picture-gallery, flooding the corridor with light, which 
showed that Donna Catalina’s favorite apartment was 
illuminated with unusual brilliancy. 

As he rushed in without looking back, Agatha saw that 
it was Don Felipe. He was ghastly pale, and as wild-eyed 
as any murderer that ever fled the horror of blood-guilti- 
ness. 

He had not discovered her. He slammed to and double- 
locked the door. Then she heard him pacing about the 
apartment, uttering moans and inarticulate sounds of 
fear or horror. 

In the inky darkness she stood, shrinking and shivering, 
and listening to those sounds. Then from the direction of 
Donna Catalina’s apartments she saw the glimmer of a 
light, and heard approaching footsteps. 

Like a spirit she glided through the front door, closing 
it noiselessly after her, and sped down the avenue toward 
the burial-plot. 


A GODDESS n EXILE, 


99 


She had nearly reached it, when she was frozen by a 
thought. What lay there beneath the shadow of the wil- 
lows? 

As if in reply, she heard a woman’s voice moaning : 

“Oh! he is dead ! he is dead! That demon has killed 
him ! Oh, oh, oh !” 

That voice checked Agatha’s flying steps with a shudder 
of repulsion. Could she meet Miss Carson again over that 
grave ? 

It was not left for her to decide. Miss Carson discov- 
ered her approach, and came rushing forth like some wild 
beast to the protection of its young. Its cold immobility 
now gone, her white face was terrible in its concentrated 
fury. Her faded eyes blazed. With the cry of a tigress, 
she sprang upon Agatha, clutching her wrist. 

“You here! — you here again !” she cried — then choked. 

Agatha was terrified. She had never seen anything like 
this in human form. 

Moreover, she discovered on the bosom of her cap- 
tor’s dress, which filled her with sickening horror, a great 
crimson stain, unmistakably of fresh blood. 

Had the woman been shot ? If so, by whom, and why ? 

Miss Carson held her face so close to Agatha’s, while 
glaring into her eyes, that her panting breath struck 
her face hot as the blast from a furnace. 

Agatha could not struggle, she could not speak ; she 
was paralyzed. The clutch on her wrist was like that of 
a strong man. 

For a time Miss Carson gazed at her captive as if de- 
bating in a bewildered way whether to annihilate her — 
how to crush her from her path. 

Then she said : 

“ Come ! Come !” 

And led, or rather dragged her rapidly away. 

Unresisting — indeed, it is doubtful whether it would not 
have been useless— Agatha submitted, vaguely wonder- 
ing what was to become of her. 

Thus they proceeded to the stables, where Miss Carson 
fearlessly approached and unchained a huge blood-hound, 
though Agatha was as afraid of it as of death. 

“ Come — come !” repeated the strange woman, leading 
Agatha with oije hand and the dog with the other. 

The beast followed Miss Carson with docility, but kept 
his eye on Agatha suspiciously. 

The helpless girl quailed. Was she to be torn to 
pieces by those terrible fangs ? 


100 


A GODLESS IN EXILE, 

Approaching the rear of the house, Miss Carson passed 
through the servants’ entrance, made her way up a back 
staircase, and so gained Agatha’s own room without hav- 
ing to pass the picture-gallery, where, judging from the 
sounds that issued thence, Donna Catalina was in the 
company of her son. 

Forcing Agatha into a chair. Miss Carson let go her 
wrist for the first time, leaving it numb with the tension 
of her grip. Pointing at the almost fainting girl, she then 
said to the blood-hound : 

“Watch her, watch her ! If she dares to move — if she 
dares to utter a sound to attract any member of the house • 
hold — tear her limb from limb !” 

The hound uttered a low whine, as if in intelligent reply 
to the charge ; then crouched on the floor, and fixing his 
terrible eyes on Agatha, uttered a rumbling, admonitory 
growl. 

Putting her face close to Agatha’s, Miss Carson laughed 
in fierce, derisive triumph. 

“ Now spy upon me !” she hissed. Then noiselessly she 
withdrew from the room. 

Alone with her terrible guard, Agatha’s eye happened to 
wander to her wrist. Where Miss Carson’s grip had been 
it was crimson — it was wet. With a thrill of horror she 
realized that it was encircled by a bracelet of blood. 

From that moment her eyes never left it. Fascinated, 
she gazed. • 

So the hours of night dragged their ever lengthening 
chain, until in the morning the door was opened from 
without. Then the house rang with shrieks of terror that 
brought Donna Catalina, Don Felipe, Dr. Reinhardt, and 
Miss Carson to the scene. 

The spectacle that met their gaze blanched the lips of 
every one, and caused Don Felipe to spring forward with 
a cry of agonized rage and despair. 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 


101 


CHAPTER XVI. 

COUNTERPLOT. 

“ A murder ! Oh, nonsense !” cried Horace, looking as 
if he feared that his friend had taken leave of his senses. 
“ Calm yourself. Max. Here, sit down, and have a glass 
of wine.” 

“Horace,” cried Max, not regarding the offer of hospital- 
ity, but wringing his friend’s hand, “I am the most recre- 
ant coward — the weakest, the most selfish. My God ! if 
I had but taken your advice. ' Instead, I have laid up a 
life-time of remorse. I shall never feel that my hands are 
free from the blood of ” 

“ Hold on, Max ! this won’t do. Whatever others may 
be responsible for, it is folly to assume for an instant that 
you have done anything to justify such an extravagant 
statement. I know you better, my boy. Take it coolly, 
and tell me the facts.” 

“ But, Horace, I placed the temptation before others to 
murder an innocent woman. ” 

“And has she been murdered?” 

“I fear so.” 

“Ah, I thought it wasn’t quite so bad. The woman 
may be alive and well. Don’t run after remorse. Max, 
until it runs after you. Now let us have a plain state- 
ment of facts from the beginning, and we’ll see if we 
can’t do away with all this masquerading. There’s your 
easy-chair ; put your feet on the railing, old fellow ; Har- 
vard ought to have made you Yankee enough for that ; 
and here are Havanas. Take it cool and comfortable, 
and things will assume a very different aspect, my word 
for it. Now, who is the woman, who are her alleged mur- 
derers, and what is your connection with the whole 
party ?” \ 

“But that’s just what I can’t tell you— at least, not 
yet.” 

“ Eh ? more mystery ?” 

“ If it proves that she has died a natural death, then I 
will bury, and try to forget, the wretched past. I will go 
away from here and leave all, never looking back,” 


102 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


Horace stretched his head resignedly. 

“Well, old man, you know your business best, perhaps,” 
he said. “Tell me what you please. You know that I 
will help you to the best of my ability, with what light I 
have. ” 

“ I do know that, Horace. Here is all that I can tell 
you : A woman is dead, and to be buried the day after 
to-morrow. You and I must disinter the body, and insti- 
tute a post-mortem examination. You understand medi- 
cine well enough to apply the tests for poison !” 

“Slowly, slowly, my dear fellow. This is a very tick- 
lish proposition. If there are reasonable grounds for such 
a suspicion, why don’t you put the proper authorities on 
the case at once ?” 

“ But there must be no expose. I won’t submit to such 
a scandal, unless she has really met with foul play, ” cried 
Max, excitedly. “ It will be bad enough if we are forced 
to punish the criminals.” 

“ But a couple of strangers opening a grave. Max ! That 
will have an ugly look, if it ever comes to light.” 

“ I have the right to open her grave. More than this I 
cannot tell you.” 

Horace Warwick gazed at his friend very seriously. 

“Max,” he said, “ I will give this proof of my friendship, 
of my confidence in you — ^I will follow you blindly. ” 

Again Max grasped the hand of his friend. 

“ Thank you, Horace, ” he said. “ Never man needed a 
friend more than I. ” 

When Horace Warwick had put his hand to a thing, he 
cast all hesitancy behind him. 

“And now what are we to do first?” he asked. 

“ We must have some place to take the body to.” 

“Yes — a secluded place.” 

“I have thought that we might rent an isolated house 
in some suburb of the city. ” 

“Say no more. I have a place in my mind. Iran 
across it in my wanderings. A cottage which has been 
without a tenant since the last occupant had the bad taste 
to commit suicide. I believe it has the reputation of being 
haunted.” 

“We will secure it at once. Then we shall need a horse 
and carriage, tools to open the grave, and surgical instru- 
ments.” 

The preliminaries were soon arranged ; then the friends 
waited, with various emotions, the day of interment. 

Don Felipe, by ways known to the wealthy, had kept 


A (r'ODDESS IN EXILE. 


103 


the affair out of the Mobile papers, so that it was confined 
to neighborhood gossip. Thus May Warwick had no 
intimation of it, nor was her husband much more en- 
lightened. 

Max’s excitement culminated when night fell, and the 
hours dragged slowly until past midnight. Then a close 
carriage drove up in the road at a little distance from 
the private cemetery of the Fentons. 

It was met by a shadowy figure which came from among 
the trees. 

“Well, Max?” said Horace, as he leaped from the driv- 
er’s seat to secure his horse, “is the coast clear?” 

“Confusion!” cried Max, excitedly; “they set one of 
the slaves on guard over the grave with a shot-gun. ” 

“The duse they have!” cried Horace, aghast. “Why, 
are body-snatchers so common in this part of the country ?” 

“Body-snatchers ! I never heard of such a thing.” 

“Well, then, it’s a rather odd proceeding, ain’t it? 
What else can they be afraid of ?” 

“But what are we to do?” asked Max, the defeat of 
his plan engrossing his thoughts. 

Horace scratched his head. 

“ Negroes seem pretty plenty about here. We couldn’t 
very well murder this particular one, I suppose ?” he ob- 
served, half-ruefully, half-laughingly. 

“It’s Pomp,” said Max, refiectively. “As trustworthy 
a fellow as ever lived. No hope of his relaxing his vigi- 
lance. He’ll guard the spot like a blood-hound.” 

“ Can’t we scare him by some hocus-pocus ?” suggested 
Horace. Negroes are all superstitious by reason of their 
ignorance. ” 

“But Pomp is as brave as a lion. Nothing in the shape 
of man or beast will scare him from his post. Look here, 
Horace, I have a mind to take him into our confidence. It 
is our only hope. ” 

“ But can you trust him ?” 

“Yes; I know that he would stand by me against all 
the world. He was my foster-brother.” 

Horace made^ a grimace. His Northern prejudice re- 
volted against the suggestion. 

“ Then let us proceed on that plan, by all means. He 
will take the ^bor off our hands. I confess that I am not 
partial to grave-digging.” 

“But one moment,” suggested Max, as Horace immedi- 
ately set about getting the shovels out of the carriage. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


m 

“ He supposes me dead. He may shoot me before I can 
make myself known, and he’s a dead shot.” 

“ Hum ! That’s worth considering,” acquiesced Horace. 

“Then, after a moment’s reflection, his fertile brain was 
ready with an expedient. 

“I have it. Appear to him from your grave.” 

“ From my grave ?” 

“Exactly. As a ghost.” 

“ Pray explain. ” 

“Here — these wraps which we have brought for the 
body will supply the habiliments commonly supposed to 
be worn by visitants from the other world. You throw a 
corner of this sheet over your head, like a hood. The 
opposite corner trails behind you, while the two remain- 
ing are held in either hand, leaving these folds to depend 
from your arms. You’ll be a famous ghost, my word for 
it. Appearing as if arisen from the grave, where he sup- 
poses you to be, he cannot fail to recognize your face, sup- 
plemented by your voice. Then, if he does not faint or 
run away, you can reveal yourself to him in your true 
character. ” 

“Though it may fail, it is worth the trial,” said Max ; 
and ten minutes later he had crept into position behind 
the tombstone which bore his name. 

Far into the night had Pomp watched, until his super- 
stitious fears abated and he was somewhat drowsy, when 
he was suddenly startled into vivid wakefulness by a 
deep, hollow groan. 

“What’s dat?” he gasped; and it must be confessed 
that he shook so that his aim would have been anything 
but steady had he thought of his shot-gun. 

Then a deep, solemn voice seemed to fill the space about 
him, without coming from any particular direction. 

“ Pomp !” 

“Who’s hyer?” demanded the negro, now frightened 
out of his wits. But his strong animal courage made him 
still a dangerous man to confront. He stood on his 
guard, with his shot-gun in readiness. If anything in the 
ordinary shape of man had appeared, his superstition 
would have vanished. 

But the same solemn voice said : 

“ Your master !” 

Then, as from the grave, appeared a spectral shape, 
with all ghostly appurtenances of white winding- sheet and 
face deathly pale, before which Pomp fell upon his knees, 
crying : 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


105 


“ Massa Max !” 

Down on his “ marrow-bones” he dropped, clasping his 
hands and shutting his eyes tightly, as children fre- 
quently do when frightened, and, lifting up his voice, 
cried : 

“Oh, Lo’d, spar dis child ! He pore, mis’rable sinnah. 
He ain’t perpared to die, nohow. ’Deed, an’ deed, an* 
double ’deed, ef de bressed Lo’d Jesus let Pomp go dis 
once, golly ! but he’ll lead in de prayin’ an’ singin’. De 
Lo’d knows dat Pomp ain’t like none o’ dem ’ar car’less 
young nigs a-shinin’ aroun’ de gals, when dey ought to 
be fleein’ from de wraf to come. ” 

“Pomp ! Pomp !” said Max, guardedly, yet of necessity 
loud enough to make himself heard above poor Pomp’s 
frantic appeal ; and, casting aside his sheet, he advanced 
until he could rest his hand on the negro’s shoulder. 
“Don’t you know me. Pomp ? Have you forgotten ‘Massa 
Max V Look at me, old fellow. It is I — not dead, but 
alive, as you can see. ” 

But Pomp had (or supposed he had) seen “ Massa Max” 
duly put under ground ; and to his simple mind a 
return to this life could be nothing else than the work of 
the devil. Now, the Lord, according to Pomp’s faith, 
is to be appealed to, but the devil is to be exorcised 
by something holy, for which he is supposed to entertain 
an insuperable repugnance. On this theory. Pomp, sud- 
denly and without warning, broke into a camp-meeting 
hymn. Worst of all, he began at the chords, which con- 
sisted of hallelujahs. 

“ For God’s sake, hush !” cried Max, clapping his hand 
over Pomp’s capacious mouth, while cold perspiration 
oozed from every pore in his body. 

“Listen to me. lam not dead. It was not I that was 
buried. It was a stranger, by mistake. Pomp, look at 
me, and you will see that I am no ghost. I d.id not 
drown. I got ashore. It was a stranger, I tell you, 
buried in my stead. ” 

The intense earnestness of Max’s voice, perhaps more 
than the words spoken, arrested Pomp’s attention. More- 
over, the apparition seemed conciliatory, rather than ag- 
gressive. Indeed, he had even sustained the contact of 
its hand without annihilation. 

After this experience Pomp’s natural courage began to 
supplant the ghost scare. He risked a quick glance ; then 
closed his eyes again. 


106 


A GODDESS IN EXILR 


“Pomp, look up. Do not be afraid. It is only I,” said 
Max. 

Then Pomp opened his eyes and looked at the master 
who, he had thought, had gone down to death in that tem- 
pestuous sea. But he said nothing ; he only gazed, in- 
credulity and fear struggling with wonder. 

Max smiled encouragingly. 

“Feel of me,” he said, extending his hand; having 
taken which Pomp said, in a voice of hushed awe : 

“It is you, Massa Max — ain’t it? You wouldn’t come no 
gum-games on a poor nig ” 

“Pomp, rest assured that it is I, in the flesh.” 

“Oh, Massa Max, I knows ye !” cried Pomp, with a sud- 
den burst. “ It is you ! — bressed be de Lo’d God, King ob 
hosts I” 

And suddenly clasping the hand in both of his great 
paws. Pomp carried it to his lips and fell to sobbing 
over it. 

“ You’s come back ! you’s come back ! Oh, Massa Max ! 
we’s got ye once mo’ ! But won’t dar be joy on dis hyer 
plantation. Dis am de year ob jubilee. Hallelujah ! 
Halle ” 

“Pomp ! Pomp ! hush ! you will betray me. No one 
is to know that I am here — even that I ani alive. There 
there ! my good fellow,” said Max, much moved by the 
love of this humble soul. “ I have come back to you, but 
to no one else. You must guard the secret ” 

“Massa Max, wild bosses couldn’t pull it out o’ me.” 

“Yes, yes, I know. And now listen to me. You were 
left here to guard this grave ?” 

“Yes, Massa Max.” 

And had Agatha been present she would have detected 
a sudden change in Pomp’s voice and manner. Was it a 
a look of deep pity that softened his face ? 

“Pomp,” said Max, “1 have brought a friend with me 
to take that body out of the grave. You know,“ he 
added, as Pomp’s eyes began to dilate with horror, “ that 
I would not do it if it were not right that it should be 
done.” 

“Massa Max, do you know?” asked Pomp, glancing 
about apprehensively — “ Massa Fillippy married her. ” 

“Yes, I know,” replied Max, a terrible look coming into 
his face. 

At that instant he heard a footfall, and Don Felipe ap- 
peared in the clear moonlight. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 107 

His face was white and set, his eyes blazing. Was all 
discovered ? 


CHAPTER XVII. 

COWARD CONSCIENCE. 

With Dr. Reinhardt gone to Biloxi, and Donna Catalina 
retired to her room, Don Felipe found his solitude haunt- 
ed on the one hand by torturing thoughts of the barrier 
he had raised between Agatha Malden and himself, and 
on the other by reflection on the unhappy tenant of that 
grave under the willows that made him pace the length 
of the picture-gallery, with clammy hands and great 
beads of sweat starting on his forehead. 

“Oh! damnable deed!” he exclaimed. “Horror! hor- 
ror ! Santo Deoz ! she will haunt me to my dying day.” 

Thus he continued far into the night, until the melody 
of a negro hymn was borne to him. At first he was 
thrilled with superstitious dread, then, on reflection, 
angered at Pomp’s seeming dereliction of duty, which he 
hastened to rebuke. 

At sight of the Spaniard there was a moment of sus- 
pended activity, in which Max thought that concealment 
was at an end. Then he reflected that he could not have 
been discovered, he and Pomp standing in the deep 
shadow while Don Felipe appeared in the broad moon- 
light ^ and with a whispered caution he glided away, and 
crouched down behind a clump of willows. 

Pomp took his cue instantly. 

“Who’s hyer?” he challenged, stepping forward, gun in 
readiness. “ Oh ! am"clat you, Massa Fillippy ?” 

“What’s all this row about?” demanded Don Felipe, 
sharply. 

“Oh, Massa Fillippy, I’ll tell ye honest an’ true— I’s 
been drefful skeered.” 

“ Scared ? At what ?” 

“C-hos’es,” replied Pomp, with an awed expression. 


108 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


“ De mos’ mons’ouses ghos’ you ebber see — riz right up out 
o’ dat grabe whar you stan’— Massa Max’s grabe. Golly ! 
it took de crinkle out o’ my har. I reckoned I was a gone 
coon, for sure ; an’ den I shut my eyes tight, an’ sang 
‘Koll on I Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Eoll !’ An’ when I 
opened my eyes de debil had cl’ared out. But, Massa 
Fillippy, dis am a mons’ous skeery place fur to stay all 
alone by mys’lf. Reckon now, you couldn’t stay a little 
while ?” concluded Pomp, piteously. 

“Nonsense,” said Don Felipe. “You have let your 
superstitious fancy run away with you. There are no 
such things as ghosts. Now, hear me — I want this thing 
done quietly. No one must know that you have kept this 
watch. If it is discovered through your folly, I will have 
you whipped. Do you hear ?” 

“Yes, Massa Fillippy. I’s powerful sorry — ’deed I is. 
I won’t do so no mo’.” 

“ It won’t be well for you if you do.” 

And Don Felipe returned to the house, little dreaming 
how much truth lay beneath Pomp’s ghost story. 

In his place of concealment Max had undergone a slight 
struggle, such as only the sight of Don Felipe could arouse 
in his breast. Now he came forth, pale with repression. 

At the same time Horace Warwick appeared from 
among the shadows in the opposite direction. Impatient 
of waiting, he had crept forward and witnessed the meet- 
ing between Pomp and Don Felipe. 

“You just saved your skin that time, my boy,” he said, 
pleasantly. 

For reply Pomp would have sprung upon him to his 
injury, but that Max restrained him, explaining : 

“ My friend. It is all right. And now let us lose no 
time. The whim may seize him at any moment to return 
and discover us.” 

“ Is that the man you suspect ?” asked Horace. 

“1 will tell you all at some future day, ” said Max. “I 
am in torture until this is successfully consummated.” 

“All right,” replied Horace, in his brisk, business-like 
manner. “ Here, Pomp — this way, if you please. I hope 
you will prove as good at digging as at deception.” 

The tools were brought from the carriage, and Pomp 
worked industriously with one shovel, though pale lips 
and dilated eyes attested his superstitious fear, while Max 
and Horace alternated with the other. 

Through their combined efforts, the earth was soon 
cleared from the lid of the box which held the casket. 


A GODDESS IN EllLE. 


109 


“Now, Max,” said Horace, “you must let me finish this. 
Step to one side, my dear fellow. You are in no con- 
dition to receive the shock that further participation in 
this matter will give you. ” 

Horace had the wraps in readiness. Removing the lid 
of the casket, he lifted the body of the ill-fated Madalena. 
It was quickly enveloped in the blankets and borne to the 
carriage. 

He was about to return to the grave to finish the work 
when he was confronted by Max, looking so wild that 
even he was startled. 

“Good Heaven, Max !” he cried, “this will never do. 
You must calm yourself.” 

“Go 1 Go at once 1” urged Max, not heeding his friend’s 
solicitude. “ I will see to the rest, and follow you as soon 
as possible. That villain is pacing the veranda, and may 
come out here at any moment. We must not be detected 
now.” 

Realizing the danger, Horace complied, though reluc- 
tant to leave his friend, and Max stood and saw the car- 
riage move slowly and noiselessly away into the night. 

At some distance down the road Horace alighted to 
secure the halter-strap, which had come loose, kicking 
unawares a small object from the carriage bottom into the 
road. 

Tnrough the open carriage-door a woman, who stood 
motionless in the shadows beside the road, saw a strange 
figure, Avrapped about from head to foot, propped in the 
opposite corner. 

When the carriage moved on the woman went out into 
the road and picked up a knot of flowers which her own 
hand had that morning placed on poor Madalena’ s bosom 
while she lay in her coffin. 

Driven by some perturbation of soul. Miss Carson had 
gone out into the night to wander in solitude, thinking — 
who can tell what thoughts ? 

For a long time she gazed in the direction in which the 
carriage had gone ; then she turned and walked slowly 
toward the Cypresses, with her eyes fixed on the bouquet. 

Meanwhile Max had returned to the grave to obliterate 
the traces of recent disturbance, a task the easier since 
the earth was yet fresh. But at the last moment there 
came an interruption. Don Felipe was discovered almost 
upon them, approaching the spot stealthily, as if to sur- 
prise Pomp, if he Avas off guard. 

Max made the discovery, and sprang into the shadows. 


110 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Pomp, his brain already in a whirl with what he had 
passed through, lost all presence of mind, and yielded to 
the first impulse, which he called “playin’ ’possum.” 
Sinking to the ground, he pretended to be unconscious. 

Thus he was discovered an instant later by Don Felipe, 
who fell into a very natural error. 

“Asleep 1” he growled, with a savage oath. “I’ll wake 
him.” 

Thereupon the Spaniard dealt poor Pomp several heavy 
kicks on the head, turning his simulated unconsciousness 
into a reality. 

Max, seeing this, was goaded beyond endurance. With 
an inarticulate cry of rage he started from his place of 
concealment. 

Turning his head so as to look over his shoulder, Don 
Felipe discovered him, the upper half of his body clearly 
revealed in the moonlight, the lower half hidden by inter- 
vening shrubbery. A branch having, as he rose, pulled 
off Max’s hat and tumbled his hair over his eyes, he tossed 
it back with a motion which the half-brothers had inher- 
ited from their father — the same that the true Max had 
made when he rose from the sea with Agatha Malden on 
his arm. 

A happy accident brought the grave in which Don Fe- 
lipe knew one Max to be resting directly between the foes, 
and his mind already prepared for the delusion, to the 
Spaniard the apparition looked like the head and shoul- 
ders of the dead man fioating in the air abve his grave. 

In an agony of terror he whirled round, drew a pistol, 
and fired, to see the startling apparition vanish instantly. 

Then the glade rang with a shriek, which woke more 
than one in the negro quarter, and brought them upright 
in bed, to shiver with superstitious terror. It was a 
woman’s shriek, and the slaves said to one another : 

“ She can’t rest alongside o’ Massa Max. De Lo’d sabe 
us. Dat ’ah place’ll be ha’nted till de resurrection mo’n.” 

It was the same scream that aroused Agatha, a‘ moment 
after she saw Don Felipe fiy into the house and lock him- 
self into the brilliantly lighted picture-gallery. 

Had Don Felipe staid a moment after his shot, instead 
of fiying so madly from the spot when he believed that 
he had seen Max Fenton’s ghost, he would have seen Miss 
Carson spring forward, cast herself on the ground beside 
Max, and take his head into her arms. This woman, 
usually as cold and emotionless as marble, was now ter- 
rible in her intense passion. 


A GODDESS EXILE, 


111 


“ Max I Max !” she < gasped, in a hoarse whisper, gazing 
at him as if she could scarcely credit her senses, while she 
held his head on her bosom, with his bloodless face turned 
to the moonlight. “Alive ! God in heaven !— alive ! No, 
no ! dead I dead ! dead ” she moaned, rocking her body 
to and fro ; “ dead ! and by his hand. Oh, Max ! oh, my 
darling — mine in death ! in death ! in death !” 

The low, wailing voice was heart-broken, the iteration 
of that ominous word sounded like a knell. 

Whatever their differences of station, it was plain that 
this woman loved Max Fenton with no common passion. 

But he did not hear the voice that now told her love, 
nor feel the kisses pressed upon his closed eyelids. His 
hair was sodden with blood from a wound on the side of 
his head. In a sort of frenzy she. hugged his head to her, 
until the bosom of her dress was saturated, as if she 
sought to draw his blood into her heart. 

She knew nothing of the vicinity of the unconscious 
Pomp, nor of what had occurred in that place of sepul- 
ture, since she had reached the spot only in time to see 
Max appear, to receive the fatal shot, and from a direction 
which enabled her to see him to better advantage than did 
the Spaniard. As strange, almost miraculous, as it ap- 
peared, after the first thrill she realized that it was Max in 
the flesh, and not a disembodied spirit. 

Now, while she mourned him as dead in the very mo- 
ment which gave him back to life, she was startled by a 
writhing of his body, and a low moan. 

“ Not dead ! not dead !” she gasped. 

In that moment she discovered Agatha’s approach, and 
laying Max’s head gently on the ground, sprang out upon 
her with the savage instinct of an animal protecting its 
young. 

We have seen her disposal of the governess. 

All the while, she was reflecting on the strange fact of 
Max allowing the world to^suppose him dead. 

“Whatever his reason,” she mused, “until he sees fit to 
break the seal of secrecy, it must be preserved. Don Fe- 
lipe will believe himself the victim of a delusion. I must 
protect my darling, while he is helpless.” 

With this purpose, she went to a pasture lot and caught 
a horse, which she led to the willows ; but when she had 
entered the shadows a low cry escaped her lips ; then all 
was still. 


1121 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

DR. REINHARDT IN THE ROLE OF A DETECTIVE. 

Like a madman Don Felipe paced the floor of the pic- 
ture-gallery, his face ghastly. 

Startled from her sleep by Miss Carson’s shriek, Donna 
Catalina rushed from her bedchamber with a flowing 
wrapper thrown over her night-dress. 

At the sound of her hand trying the door, Don Felipe 
crouched, quivering and staring like a veritable maniac. 

Finding the door fastened, my lady, always short of pa- 
tience, and now thoroughly excited, pounded on its pan- 
els, crying: 

“ Felipe ! Felipe I Admit me — your mother.” 

At last Don Felipe, recognizing his mother’s voice, 
crept to the door and opened it. 

At sight of the white-robed figure he leaped back with 
a shriek of terror. 

“Felipe ! Felipe I” she gasped. “What has befallen 
you, my son ?” 

“ Shut the door ! shut the door I” he gasped, waving her 
off. 

She complied, and came back to him. 

“ In Heaven’s name what has happened ?” she asked. 

He clung to her, but seemed unable to speak. 

She led him to a seat and tried to soothe him. 

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then sat wring- 
ing his clammy hands. 

“ She is avenged !” he said, at last ; “ avenged ! avenged !’' 

“Who? Who?” panted Donna Catalina, with breath- 
less eagerness. 

“The woman we murdered !” he replied, with startling 
abruptness. 

“ Virgen Santissima !” aspirated Donna Catalina. 

“ He — he started from his grave to confront me !” shud- 
deringly cried the Spaniard, growing excited. “ I aimed 
at his life. Ha, ha!” with wild hilarity, “the life of a 
spirit. You heard the shot? And she shrieked. Did you 
hear her shriek ? — did you hear her ?” 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 


113 


“Saints defend th,ee, my son. What are you telling 
me ?” cried Donna Catalina, clinging to him. 

But he sprang to his feet and flung her off roughly. 

“ That you and that accursed Fenton have given me 
over to a living hell. Never again shall I know rest.” 

Dr. Reinhardt, making his appearance before breakfast- 
time, went directly to the picture-gallery, unannounced, 
as was his custom. At sight of the plotters he cried, 
aghast : 

“ Gott in Himmel ! vat you do mit yourselluf ?” 

Don Felipe only glared at him with murderous hatred ; 
but Donna Catalina saw in the unimaginative German a 
valuable auxiliary. 

Rapidly she recounted to him the incredible thing that 
her son had told her, and appealed to him to re-establish 
Don Felipe’s equanimity by finding some natural explana- 
tion of the startling delusion. 

“ A phantom he’t !” he repeated, and, shaking his hand, 
declared : “ Nein ! nein ! dot iss nix. Dis iss de nine- 
teent’ century, my frient. Ghosts ! Piff ! you are upset 
mit too much brooding ofer de incident of the last few 
veek.” 

And he tapped his head significantly. 

Don Felipe sprang before him, and stood quivering 
from head to foot with intense passion. 

“Curse you !” he cried, throwing the whole energy of a 
deadly hate into the imprecation. Then he went on like 
a rushing torrent : “ You — you have brought this upon 
me, and now you dismiss ft with a snap of your fingers. 
I tell you I saw Max Fenton as plainly as I now see you — 
his head and shoulders floating above his grave. The 
same motion of his head, tossing the hair out of his eyes 
— the same look that he gave me when he rose out of the 
sea. At my shot the phantom vanished, and her shriek 
arose as if she were alive and conscious of his danger. My 
mother was roused by the cry. Do you assume that she, 
I too, was subject to the same delusion ? Moreover,’ Pomp 
,* must have seen the same thing, an hour or so earlier.” 

Dr. Reinhardt had not been disturbed by the Spaniard’s 
threateninfg attitude, but his words started a new train of 
thought. 

“Come,” he said, “dere may be somet’ing to dis’ after 
all. Let us investigate. Senora will t’row a mantilla ofer 
her he’t ? Ve vill go to de grave.” 

In the hall they met Miss Carson, whose cold, immobile 
face was as unreadable as ever. 


A GODDESS IN EXILJ^. 


iu 

The reader will remember that upon entering the burial 
lot, after having secured a horse on which to remove the 
wounded Max, Miss Carson uttered a cry. It was one of 
surprise at sight of Pomp, whom she then discovered for 
the first time. 

But the shovels which lay near caused her deeper emo- 
tion. Putting them together with what she had seen in 
the highway, she arrived at a very accurate solution of 
the situation. 

“ His business here was to disinter her !” she said. 
“Why?” 

Then, as a spasm of bitter jealousy contorted her face, 
she added : 

“Even in death she outrivals me !” 

She ground her teeth and clenched her hands until the 
nails left indentations which afterward turned purple. 

“ But I must carry out his purpose of secrecy, ” she pur- 
sued, with a dreary resignation, save that the fires in her 
hollow eyes were waxing more intense. 

To this end she carried the shovels and threw them into 
a bayou at some distance. 

Pomp alone perplexed her. Was he in Max’s confi- 
dence ? Why had he the shot-gun, which she recognized as 
one with which he was wont to go “ coonin’ ?” She had to 
run the risk of leaving him where he was — at least until 
she had taken Max to a place of hiding. 

Then this strange woman made a marked display of that 
strength against which Agatha had found it so futile to 
struggle. It seemed as if by the mere intensity of her will 
she were enabled to get Max’s body over her shoulder and 
stagger with it to the point nearer than which she had 
deemed it imprudent to bring the horse, lest his hoof- 
prints should awaken suspicion. 

When, with almost superhuman effort, she had lifted 
her heavy burden to the back of the horse, she was ghastly 
pale and panting, and seemed about to faint with ex- 
haustion. But with that pluck which nothing ever daunted, 
she mastered herself, and after a time urged the horse for- 
ward while she held Max’s body in position. 

It was broad daylight when she returned to the cypresses. 
With some difficulty she managed to gain an entrance to 
the house unperceived ; but it was hopeless to attempt 
the removal of the hound from Agatha’s room. 

Her clothing, saturated with blood, and bedraggled 
with mire in that terrible night struggle, she had to 
secrete, leaving its renovation to some future opportunity. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 115 

Then she looted into the mirror, at her lack-luster 
eyes, ringed with dai^k circles, and at her general jaded 
appearance. 

“ I must have strength — strength )” she said, unlocking 
a box which contained only a small vial, from which she 
took with nicest care the least particle of a whitish 
powder and dropped it into a glass of wine, which she 
drank at a swallow. 

“Here is rest,” she said, holding up a tiny vial and 
gazing at it. “You will not fail me if I come to you for 
oblivion !” 

She gazed past the vial at her reflection in the mirror — 
at her faded eyes; her face that had never been fair to look 
upon, her figure which displayed nothing of graceful con- 
tour. 

For others, life and happiness ; for me, misery and 
death! O-o-o oh !” 

That was an indescribable cry, as the soul of the woman 
burst into savage rebellion against the decree of fate. 
But in a moment the spasm passed, the tense muscles re- 
laxed, and the frenzied glitter faded from her eyes. 

She put the vial carefully away, saying softly to it : 

“ Wait, wait ! the time is not yet 1” 

Then she passed into the corridor and descended the 
stairs, to meet the three plotters emerging from the 
picture-gallery. 

After looking inquiringly from Don Felipe’s face to 
that of his mother, she asked, in measured tones : 

“Is there anything you wish to tell me ?” 

“She may as well know,” said Don Felipe, avoiding her 
glance and addressing the German, who thereupon told 
her what he had heard, and invited her to join in their 
investigation. 

Miss , Carson expressed no surprise by word or lookt 
She followed the others, with no outward manifestation 
of interest. 

Entering the burial lot, Dr. Reinhardt, who was in ad- 
vance, uttered an ejaculation of astonishment. 

“ Ach, Gott 1 vat have ve here ?” 

Pomp lay before them,- unconscious. 

A hasty examinatiqn, and Dr. Reinhardt announced : 

“ Contusions on de he’t ! Aha ! ghosts make dot ?” 

“I am, no doubt, accountable for one of them,” ad- 
mitted Don Felipe. “I found him lying there asleep, as I 
supposed, and kicked him to arouse him.” 


216 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“Aha ! • Veil, you but repeat de dose dot dot ghost gif 
him. Ve vill see vat he haf to say.” 

After some effort, Dr. Eeinhardt succeeded in restoring 
Pomp to consciousness. At first he gazed about him in 
utter bewilderment ; but his surroundings soon brought 
back the last vivid impression on his mind. His first 
observation was that the shovels had been removed, from 
which he argued that Max had escaped. 

But the situation called for immediate action, and Pomp 
hit upon a most cunning expedient. 

“Oh, Massa Fillippy,” he cried, deprecatingly, “I’s 
powerful sorry dat I fell asleep — ’deed I is ! I don’t see 
how I corned to do it, out hyer, wher de spooks might a- 
scooped me in jest as well as not. ” 

“Dot’s all right — dot’s all right,” said Dr. Eeinhardt, 
smiling at what he considered Pomp’s mistake. “ But vat 
you see here before you fall asleep? No man come here?” 

“Massa Fillippy corned round hyer. An’ den — an’ den,” 
stammered Pomp, in apparent excitement, “dah was de 
spook.” 

“Aha ! you see de ghost too?” 

The investigations of the German enabled him to draw 
pretty accurate conclusions as to the events. In the 
shrubbery he found blood-stains. 

“ Ve vill soon find out all about it,” he said, “by catch- 
ing dot man.” 

“But the man is gone I — he has escaped.” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


117 


b 


CHAPTER XIX. 

BURIED alive! 

“ Ve vill follow him. Tiger vill lead us.” 

But when they went to the stable for the blood-hound 
the dog was missing. 

“ Aha ! Aha 1 He iss a cunning rascal, ” exclaimed Dr. 
Reinhardt. “ He has dot means taken avay by vich ve 
shall follow him. ” 

The Teuton began to pace back and forth, while he 
meditated. 

“Dot vas a voman’s scream,” he observed, presently. 
“Ve vill find dot vomans. Who would be in dot burying- 
ground in dot time of de night? Dem niggers vas 
afraid of dot spook — heh ? Dot, den, vas a vite vomans. 
Vere iss Miss Malden?” 

The abrupt question startled Don Felipe. 

“ Do not mix that lady in this, ” he said, with a frown of 
annoyance. “She was abed and asleep, of course.” 

“ How you know dot ?” asked the German, placidly. 

“We can easily learn if she had anything to do in the 
matter, ” said Donna Catalina ; and as no reasonable ob- 
jection could be made to summoning the governess to an 
interview, Don Felipe said no more. 

But the servant sent to invite Miss Malden to the 
picture-gallery, after they had repaired to the house, 
came shrieking down the stairs, in such abject terror that 
no effort was made to disentangle her incoherent speech, 
save that all caught some reference to blood. 

Don Felipe tore up the stairs^ followed by Dr. Rein- 
hardt, while Donna Catalina and Miss Carson were 
scarcely less precipitate. 

Still in her chair sat Agatha, gazing at her bloody 
wrist, while the vigilant hound crouched at her feet. 
As the plotters rushed into the room, Agatha looked at 
them and smiled vacantly. 

“Oh, Dio santissimo 1” cried the Spaniard, “we have 
driven her mad. May the curses of Heaven fall upon 
those who have had a hand in this. ” 

Springing forward, he sank upon his knees before her 


118 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


and caught both her hands, addressing her in accents that 
showed the depth of his passion for her. 

“Oh, dear lady — my dear Miss Malden, what is the 
meaning of this ? In Heaven’s name, what has happened 
to you?” 

“I am very tired,” sighed Agatha, leaning back in 
her chair, and closing her eyes wearily. 

Don Felipe turned to Dr. Reinhardt in a despairing 
appeal. 

“My God ! my God ! what is t) be done?” 

Dr. Reinhardt advanced and took Agatha’s hand ; but 
instead of feeling her pulse, as Don Felipe expected, he 
gazed at the bloody wrist, and said : 

“Aha ! it vas her voice. She vas dere. She brings dot 
hount avay. But whose bloody finkers grasp dot wrist ? 
— tell me dot already. ” 

“ A thousand million furies !” fairly yelled the Spaniard, 
as he snatched Agatha’s hand away. “At such a moment 
dare you trifle with me ?” 

“ Trifle !” repeated the German. “ My dear senor, de 
safety of your neck and mine may hang upon dot bloody 
mark.” 

He suddenly became pale, not with anger, but with fear. 

Don Felipe’s rage was arrested in full tide. He had 
never seen the phlegmatic Teuton so affected. 

“ Dot iss vone spy !” he cried, shaking his Anger at Aga- 
tha. “ Who brought her here ? Chames Maxvell Fenton. 
He iss deat. Vel, has he a coadjutor who iss carrying 
oud his purposes after his deaf ? Dot iss her principal. 
Who iss he? Vere iss he? Vy does he visit dot grafe ? 
She”— again pointing savagely at Agatha — “ hang us.” 

Don Felipe’s love for Agatha triumphed over his fear, 
so that he rallied after the first shock. 

“ However that may be,” he said, “our first care must 
be to relieve her from the effects of this terrible shock.” 

“Don’t let me go near her,” the German said, with mur- 
derous hate and fear in his eyes, “or I vill send her out of 
de world. Ach, Gott ! iss my neck of notting vorf ?” 

Don Felipe started back aghast. 

At this moment Miss Carson stepped forward and said, 
in her wonted cold, unimpassioned way : 

“ Leave her to me. I will answer for her perfect recov- 
ery. All that she needs is a little quiet. The wisdom of 
returning her to the North as soon as she is able to go — 
which will be in two or three days, at the farthest — I 
leave to your good sense. ” 


A GODDESS lA EXILE. 


119 


“Never!” replied Don Felipe. “I will take the risk of 
her remaining here. ” 

“And jeopardize us all?” interrupted Donna Catalina. 
“ Felipe, your unfortunate infatuation has been fruitful of 
trouble from its inception. Now yield to reason ” 

“I am not yet satisfied that Miss Malden is acting in 
conjunction with any one else to our prejudice,” said 
Don Felipe, coldly. “ Come, let us not prolong the cause 
of her disturbance. ” 

He led the way from the room, taking the hound with 
him. 

Dr. Reinhardt followed in sullen silence. 

Donna Catalina also retired, leaving Miss Carson in sole 
charge. 

Her first step was to wash the blood from Agatha’s 
wrist. 

Then she put her to bed with a composing draught 
which threw her into a deep sleep, out of which she 
awoke just before nightfall, weak, yet perfectly rational. 

Then Miss Carson stood over her and said, in a way that 
was the more impressive by reason of the total lack of 
passion : 

“Miss Malden, you have seen enough of me to form 
some idea of my character. I am a woman who looks 
upon the rewards of the next life as of this, without hope, 
and upon its penalties without fear. If I thought you 
would balk me in some cherished project, I would kill 
you with the same indifference as I would crush a worm 
that lay in my path. If, having warned you, you still be- 
trayed me, I would kill you out of revenge. The events 
of last night have given rise to an investigation into 
which you will be drawn as soon as I announce that you 
are awake. To the questions which will be put to you, 
you must refuse absolutely any answer. I will send 
mammy to assist you to dress.” 

And, as coldly as she had spoken. Miss Carson with- 
drew, leaving Agatha to await the coming inquisition 
with shuddering dread. 

Meanwhile, upon descending from Agatha’s room, Dr. 
Reinhardt had said : 

“ Veil, ve haf de hount. Iss it your purpose, den, to 
continue dis investigation ?” 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Don Felipe. ”“ Let us proceed 
without delay.” 

Donna Catalina’s nervous energies were exhausted, so 
the gentlemen went to the burial-lot without her 


120 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Taking the scent from the spot of blood, the hound set 
off eagerly, straining on the leash, and soon led his mas- 
ter to the spot where the carriage had stood. 

“Aha!” exclaimed Dr. Reinhardt, searching narrowly 
for indications, “here has been a horse and carriage 
already. See ! here he stamp de foot ; here he gnawed 
the bark of the tree. He stand here some time, vile his 
driver vas at dot grafe. Ah !” he suddenly exclaimed, 
“dot vas a shentleman’s. See 1 de heel of a small boot. 
Ah I two — two. Dot foot iss bigger as dot vone. And vat 
haf ve here ? A shuffel. See I he lean against de tree. ” 

He pointed excitedly to the ground at the foot of a tree. 
Don Felipe looked, and saw the edge of a shovel, which 
had been placed against the tree-trunk, plainly outlined 
in the soil. 

“A shovel 1” he said, pale and trembling. 

“A shuffel!” repeated Dr. Reinhardt: “a shuffel and 
a carriage !” he added. 

The inference was too plain. Without a word further 
they hastened back to the grave. 

Here a careful examination revealed unmistakable 
traces of disturbance. 

“See !” cried the German, “on dis spot vere de eart’ vas 
frown from dot grafe de last foot-print vas of shentle- 
mans. Ah ! see, here iss more. Dey haf a slave along, 
too. Dot foot iss big and sprawling. De shentlemans 
help him fill in de grafe.” 

“Why did they seek the body?” asked Don Felipe, his 
lips white, his voice quavering. 

“Who shall say? Enough, dey haf it.” 

“With traces of our crime.” 

“Nein! nein ! I vas a Dutchman, but not a donder- 
head. Ha, ha, ha ! Vat for do I study medicine?” 

“ But all poisons may be detected by an analysis of the 
stomach. I tell you we have been under espionage by 
some one who suspects foul play, and is bound to fetch it 
home to us. That is what i feared. Curse that natural- 
ist !— what do you call him ?— he is at the bottom of this. 
But you were too precipitate. The death followed too 
soon. I would have been willing to wait a week or so, at 
least. ” 

“Deaf? Poison? Vat is dis?” asked the German, with 
affected surprise. 

“ Caramba !” growled the Spaniard, impatiently. “ You 
ought to know, since they were administered by your 
hand.” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


121 


“ Ach, Gott ! you slander me. Dere vas no poison — no 
deaf.” 

“No poison — no death ? What do you mean ?” 

Dr. Reinhardt laughed. 

“ Dot, after his arduous midnight labor, our goot frient 
haf, at most, only efSdence of our unfortunate mistake. 
De most vonderful t’ing in dot great mystery, life, is dot 
trance. ” 

“Trance? You don’t mean to say that Madalena was 
only in a trance — that she was buried alive ?” cried Don 
Felipe, ghastly with horror. 

Dr. Reinhardt shrugged his shoulders. 

“ But is there any possibility of her being alive ?” asked 
Don Felipe, gazing upon the doctor as upon a monster 
whose utter fiendishness he was just finding out. “ She 
was buried for nine or ten hours. ” 

“All tings are possible mit nature,” said Dr. Reinhardt, 
vaguely. “In a trance de respiration is so slight dot she 
might remain so long in de grafe mitout exhausting de 
air in her coffin, so as to produce suffocation, vich iss only 
blood poison.” 

Don Felipe made no further effort to lift the vail of 
dark possibilities. Shuddering, and with a new fear of 
this man of science, he turned away. 

Upon inquiry at Biloxi, it was ascertained that no one 
had seen Dr. Hovey for two days. He had left no word 
which would account for his absence ; but because of his 
erratic habits the landlord as yet felt no anxiety in the 
matter. 

Next came the examination of Agatha ; but she said : 

“ Of last night and its events I have absolutely nothing 
to say.” 

And in this resolve she was found to be immovable. She 
complied with Miss Carson’s demand the more readily, 
since, in any event, she had nothing to gain by assisting 
one party against another, where all were equally her 
enemies. 

That night, for the second time, poor Pomp was set to 
open the grave. 

“I’ll nebber get ober dis, shore!” he declared within 
himself, while his teeth' chattered and his knees fairly 
smote together with superstitious fear. “ De debil won’t 
stan’ it. When I strike dat ’ar coffin, he’ll come, dis 
time, fur sartin. De Lo’d knows dis hyer chile ob ini- 
quity wouldn’t go rummagin’ aroun’ in no boneyard — no, 
not widin a million miles ob ’em— ef he could help it.” 


122 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


In the midst of these lugubrious reflections came a cry 
of alarm from Don Felipe, who had wandered a little dis- 
tance from the grave, leaving Pomp under the supervision 
of Dr. Reinhardt. 

“ Help ! help ! Come quickly. I have the devil. Car- 
amba. ” 

There were sounds of a flerce struggle. Dr. Reinhardt 
sprang away to the assistance of his fellow-plotter. Pomp 
leaped nimbly from the grave, but did not know which 
way to run. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


123 


CHAPTER XX. 

UP FROM THE GRAVE. 

Driving directly to the suburban cottage which they 
had secured, Horace thought to proceed at once and get 
through with the more shocking process of dissection be- 
fore Max arrived. The subsequent examination of the 
stomach would be a mere chemical test. 

But while he was yet arranging the body on the table, 
he suddenly stopped, his somber look superseded by a 
wave of excitement. With a swift movement, he tore the 
covering from the face, gazing at it with piercing scrutiny. 
He placed his ear close down over the heart, and the pol- 
ished blade of an instrument before the parted lips. 

“ Great Heaven ! if she is yet alive I” he exclaimed. 

Throwing open the door of an inner apartment, which 
proved to be a bed-chamber, he bore her in and placed her 
on the bed ; and after working over her with unremitted 
effort during long hours of solitude, h,e was rewarded by 
seeing her open her eyes, just as. the beam of the morning 
sun entered the chamber. 

The woman had been buried alive. 

“Pray, relieve your mind of all anxiety,” he said, in re- 
ply to her look of wonder and apprehension. “You are 
among friends, who will see that you have every care.” 

“Where am I? Why am I here?” she asked, faintly. 

“You have been very ill. It was thought advisable to 
remove you from your home for a time. I am your phy- 
sician.” V 

She seemed about to question him further, but he put 
his hand on her forehead, and said, gently : 

“You are too weak to talk now. Try to sleep, and 
everything shall be explained when you awake.” 

She yielded to the mesmeric touch, and with her eyes 
fixed on his face, sank into a quiet slumber. 

Now, for the first time, Horace started with the con- 
sciousness that Max ought to have returned long since. 

“But what a surprise for him !” he reflected. “Will it 
be an agreeable one ? Who is this strange woman, and 
what is she to him ?” 


124 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


But hour after hour passed without bringing Max ; and 
Horace realized that he had a very perplexing task before 
him, when Madalena awoke about noon — and so very wide 
awake. 

“ Ah, I am glad to see my little patient looking so well, ” 
he said, with a desperate attempt at professional cheer- 
fulness. 

“Yes, thank you ; I am feeling very well,” she replied. 
“Indeed, I think I might sit up and partake of just a mor- 
sel of food, if you will be so kind as to call ” 

And there she stopped abruptly, with her piercing, dark 
Spanish eyes on his face. 

“Allow me to introduce myself as Dr. Warwick. It 
has devolved upon me to tell you what will doubtless 
distress you ; but let me begin by assuring you that the 
past cannot reach you here, and the future holds only 
security and the care of true friends.” 

To this exordium Madalena listened with dilating eyes 
and bated breath. 

“You see,” he continued, “there are the gravest reasons 
for suspecting the fidelity of those whom you have hith- 
erto regarded as your friends, and it has been deemed ad- 
visable to take you from under their charge. I am natur- 
ally very loth to say anything in disparagement of a rival 
in the profession ” 

“ Dr. Reinhardt, you mean ?” 

“Exactly. You will doubtless understand, without 
forcing me to be more explicit than to say that your true 
friends are not satisfied with his treatment of your case.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Madalena, “ you can never know what 
he and the rest of them have made me suffer. I believe 
they have driven me insane at times. But who are the 
friends to whom I am indebted for this new interest ?” 

“That matter requires a word of explanation. You 
must know that our manner of gaining possession of you 
was not strictly in accordance with law. We found you 
in a state of unconsciousness — how induced I’ll not ven- 
ture to say — and feeling that your safety was to be con- 
sidered before the observance of a mere legal formality, 
incurred some risk for your sake. ” 

“ How can I ever thank you ?” breathed Madalena, to 
whom the law was an uncomprehended, and therefore ter- 
rible, power — the power that could hang ! 

“For this reason,” pursued Horace, “we shall be forced 
to keep you in hiding until we can get the law into opera- 
tion on our side. More than this— against the chance of 


125 


'A GODDESS m EXILE. 

your being called up as a witness and compelled to testify 
against your friends as concerned in your abduction— for 
so the law will construe it, in the present state of the case 
— it is thought advisable that you should not be informed 
of their identity until this danger is past. ” 

“ But you ? You have taken all this upon yourself.” 

“Oh!” replied Horace, “lam a professional man, you 
know. Of course, we doctors and lawyers adjust these 
little matters among ourselves. ” 

With like plausibility he explained away every strange 
feature of what must have been to poor Madalena a truly 
perplexing situation, and at last left her to await his re- 
turn from the city with food, clothing, and a nurse. 

But first, to guard against Max’s betraying himself, 
Horace wrote an explanation of the situation on leaves 
torn from his note-book, and pinned them on the door 
where Max could not fail to observe, in a bold hand : 

“Bead this before entering !” 

Having used all possible dispatch, it was yet late in the 
afternoon when he returned, accompanied by a resolute- 
looking woman. 

The note was gone — the cottage-door stood ajar. With 
a sudden presentiment that this was the fatal misstep he 
had so dreaded, he leaped from the carriage and rushed 
into the house to find 

Everything just as he had left it. 

No, that was not quite true. Madalena was indeed 
there, and alone, but in her eyes was a strange, wild 
light which had not been there before. 

“What is it?” was Horace’s eager salutation. “What 
has happened ? Who has been here ?” 

“No one,” replied Madalena, in a constrained voice. 

“Oh!” ejaculated Horace, “relief paramount,” though 
his anxiety over Max’s protracted absence was increased. 
“ I left a note pinned on the floor, in case any of your 
friends should call during my absence. I was made anx- 
ious by finding the note gone and the door ajar. ” 

“Yes,” said Madalena. “ I think it likely that I am at 
fault for not closing it carefully. ” 

“You closed the door !” cried Horace. 

“I may have done wrong,” she replied, “but the silence 
and solitude became unendurable. Eemember that I am 
ill and nervous ; and don’t think that I reproach you, 
if I say that the time seemed long. I seemed compelled 
to get up and go to the door to see if you were returning. 
I saw the note pinned on the ” 


126 


A GODDESS IN EXtLR 


“Good gracious. And you read it?” 

“Don’t blame me too severely,” said Madalena. “Con- 
sider my situation. All that you had said was so vague — 
I did not realize how vague until you were gone, and I 
got to thinking it over by myself. When I tried to make 
definite just what you had so darkly hinted at I found 
that there was really nothing tangible.” 

“ It was to spare you pain, believe me.” 

“Yes, but the discovery only increased my fears. I got 
to imagining all sorts of horrible possibilities, until I be- 
came so nervous that I threw the bedclothes back and sat 
up. Then I made a terrible discovery. ” 

“ Great Heaven !” groaned Horace, within himself, as 
he imagined that appalling revelation in utter solitude 
and helplessness. 

“Up to this time I had taken no thought of myself —of 
my person. I had lost consciousness in a bed of illness, 
and recovered in the same situation, only in a dif- 
ferent locality. It had not occurred to me that there 
might be any other change. But now I discovered that I 
was habited not in my ordinary night-dress, but in a — 
shroud.” 

“ I would gladly have spared you this had it beed pos- 
sible.” 

“ I cannot describe the feelings that this knowledge ex- 
cited in me. I wonder that I did not die outright with 
horror. In that moment of madness I leaped from the 
bed and began to tear the hateful thing off from me, when 
I lost my strength and sank gasping and shuddering to 
the floor. 

“ Poor child. How you must have suffered.” 

“My strength did not return until my mind had greatly 
calmed. Then I crept to a chair and managed to get 
into it. I was afraid to return to bed. I think I must 
have been slightly delirious, for I feared that if I lay 
down I would lose consciousness, and some one discover- 
ing me thus might think that I was laid out, and so bury 
me before you returned to tell them that I was alive. 

“Oh ! the horror of that awful suspense. No nightmare 
was ever equal to it. I pictured to myself all the agony 
of being buried in a trance, as I have heard it described — 
conscious that I was being fastened in a coflSn, borne to 
the grave, lowered into the ground, and covered away 
from sight forever, and unable to move or make a sound 
which would let my friends know the living death they 
were inflicting upon me.” 


A GODDESS IK EXILE, 127 

“Pray do not recall it, ” . protested Horace, seeing that 
she was becoming greatly excited. 

“In this frame of mind,” continued Madalena, “when 
I could endure solitude no longer, I went to the door to 
look for you, or for any living thing besides myself. I 
saw the note, and divined its purpose. Do you blame me 
for yielding to the temptation to read it ?” 

“No, no! in Heaven’s mercy. But what did you do 
with it ?” 

“You must forgive me. I gathered from its tenor that 
it was intended to warn some one who thought me dead 
that I was alive, so that he would not come in and be 
recognized by me. Of course I knew from your previous 
explanation that it was only that I might not be exposed 
to the possibility of having to testify against my friend,” 
said Madalena, with a child like simplicity that made 
Horace groan within himself : 

“Heaven forgive me for that deception.” 

“ But, oh I” continued the poor creature, with pathetic 
fervor, “when I so longed to see some one — any one — the 
thought of having a friend come so near to me, and then 
turn back. I couldn’t endure it — I couldn’t endure it. 
It is so long — oh I so long — since I have seen a friend — a 
true friend 1” she cried, interlacing her fingers, and gaz- 
ing at Horace piteously through the tears in which her 
great dark eyes now swam, while her voice broke in sobs. 
“And I couldn’t imagine who it could be. Why, I have 
no friends — not one in all the wide, wide world, save 
you.” 

“There, there 1” he said, caressing the hand with which 
she clung to his, “we’ll change all that. But, tell me — 
what did you do with my note ?” 

“Here it is,” she said, drawing it from under her pil- 
low, and giving it to him. “ I have read it over and over 
again. ” 

Trembling internally, Horace withdrew to the window 
to read it. 

On his face there was an expression of intense relief 
when he had run through the note. It contained no clew 
to the identity of the person to whom it was addressed. 

“Thank Heaven it’s no worse !” refiected Horace. “She 
need not know that she was actually buried.” 

“Tell me,” said Madalena, “was I— laid out— when you 
got me ?” 

“I beg— for your sake,” stammered Horace, startled out 
of his self-possession by the intense feeling with which 


128 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


she fairly gasped the question, “ that you will not force 
me to go into so painful ” 

But her eyes were dilating, the horror in them deepen- 
ing, while her face took on a strange whiteness. She drew 
her hand from under the coverlet, and held up a shred of 
white satin. 

“That — that,” she panted, “was attached to my — shroud 
— by a pin, as if it had been accidentally caught, and then 
torn away, in lifting — me — out ” 

But her voice stopped, and her teeth fairly chattered. 
Only her eyes concluded the sentence with their word- 
less questions. 

“ In God’s name !” cried Horace, shocked beyond ex- 
pression. And he snatched the tell tale bit of satin from 
her now nerveless fingers. 

With a great cry of horror, she dropped her hands over 
her face, and so remained, trembling like an aspen. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


129 


CHAPTER XXI. 

AN EMPTY GRAVE. 

As night approached, Horace resolved to go in quest of 
Max. His first inquiry was at Biloxi, for Dr. Hovey. 

Here he learned from the landlord that Dr. Hovey had 
not been there for two days, and that Dr. Reinhardt had 
been inquiring for him. Horace tendered his thanks, and 
being on horseback, turned to ride away, when the land- 
lord bawled out : 

“Hold on — hyer’s the doc, now.” 

And a moment later Horace Warwick stood face to face 
with Madalena’s deadliest foe. 

“ You wish to see me ?” asked the latter, eying Horace 
narrowly, as he had cause to be suspicious of all strangers 
just then. 

“I am seeking Dr. Hovey,” replied Horace, watching 
tor the effects produced by that name. 

“Ah !” ejaculated the German. “I don’t know vere he 
iss already. I make no great ackvaintance mit him. But 
I may see him vonce. You vill lief your name — no ?” 

“Dr. Wentworth, of Cincinnati,” replied Horace, with- 
out hesitation. “I may give you one of my cards.” 

He remembered that he had a card bearing that name, 
and added Cincinnati to account for his acquaintance with 
Dr. Hovey. His address was so perfect that the German 
was completely deceived. 

As he rode away, Horace decided that it was not far 
from a drawn battle. He had seen the enemy ; but, un- 
fortunately, the enemy had seen him as well. 

He resolved to reconnoiter the Cypresses that night. If 
he could get speech with Pomp, he might gain some in- 
formation. 

The plotters began the work of excavation as soon as it 
was dark enough to cover their movements. This brought 
them a little in advance of Horace, who saw Dr. Rein- 
hardt standing over the grave, while Pomp delved. 

But the Spaniard, goaded by conscience, had wandered 
apart, and so discovered Horace, and pounced upon him. 

Horace, warned by the snapping of a twig, discovered 


130 


A GODDESS IK EXILE. 


the danger just in time to partially ward off a stunning 
blow. But he reeled and sank upon one knee, to be hurled 
to the ground by the impetuous Don Felipe grappling 
with him. 

The Northerner, however, was an athlete, and though 
taken at so great a disadgantage, rolled his man over, 
half choked the life out of him, and made him see a uni- 
verse of stars not down in any astronomical chart, by 
dashing his head against the root of a tree ; then rose and 
fled, before Dr. Eeinhardt gained the scene of .action. It 
was not the obese Teuton he feared, but the stalwart 
Pomp, who might take him prisoner before he recognized 
him, or compromise himself by too plainly letting him 
escape. 

“After him. Pomp — after dot teufle !” shouted Dr. Eein- 
hardt. “Gott in himmel ! he vill escape.” 

But Pomp, regaining his courage, dashed in pursuit. 

“ Pring him pack, dead or alife !” cried Dr. Eeinhardt, 
finding himself distanced in the race. “ It iss dot teufle, 
Ventvort !” 

Thus much he had discovered as Horace dashed across 
a moonlit space. 

Knowing that the Spaniard was hors de combat and that 
the German would soon be completely winded, Horace re- 
solved to wring victory from defeat, and gain his purpose 
after all. 

Having led Pomp about a mile, so as to be sure that they 
would not be overtaken, he stopped. 

“Fo’ de Lo’d ! am dat you, Massa Horace?” cried Pomp, 
as he came up. “I was hopin’ dat it was Massa Max. 
Dat’s de reason dat I don’t try to kotch you befo’.” 

“What has become of Max?” asked Horace, eagerly. 

Pomp explained all he knew of Max’s mysterious disap- 
pearance. 

“I don’t like that blood,” said Horace, anxiously “and 
yet to be able to carry off the shovels he couldn’t be dan- 
gerously wounded. But if not, why has he absented him- 
self so long ?” 

“Massa Horace,” said Pomp, “dey don’t put dat houn’ 
on de right scent. I come back again when Massa Eein- 
hardt was up to Biloxi, an’ Massa Fillippy was rampagin’ 
aroun’ de house, an’ I smelt out dat ’ah trail all ’lone by 
myse’f— yes, I did. I hunted fur blood ; an’ by’m-by I 
found some. Den I foun’ some mo’, an’ den some mo’ 
yit — a drop on dis leaf, an’ a drop dah on de grass. But 
dat wa’n’t all. Dey was little foot-prints, not big ’nough 


A GODDESS lA EXILE. 


131 


for Massa Max. But dey sink deep. Dey ain’t no lady 
roun’ dis hyer plantation dat’s heaby ’nough to make dem 
’ah foot-prints all by herself. An’ den dey went to wha’ 
a hoss had been stannin’. An’ now I tell you what I 
tink.” 

“ What in the world do you think ?” cried Horace, whose 
anxiety increased with his mystification. 

“Massa Horace, I tink dis : ’at Missy Gatty was out do’ 
an’ see Massa Max shot, an’ she scream. Den, when 
Massa Fillippy run away, she go an’ tote Massa Max to dat 
hoss.” 

“ A woman carry Max ? Impossible !” exclaimed Hor- 
ace,, incredulously. 

“Missy Gatty t’ink a heap o’ Massa Max. She goto 
his grabe ebery day,” said Pomp. “Dey ain’t nobody like 
her on dis plantation. She’s jes’ like de angels dat dey 
hab in de New J’rus’lum.” 

“But a woman — she would not have the strength.” 

“Maybe she as’t de Lo’d to help her pack him. I reckon 
he’d do ’most anything she as’t him to.” 

When Pomp told the strange scene that had occurred in 
the chamber, as he had learned it from the maid who was 
so greatly terrified, Horace began to think that this 
woman who loved Max so well might know something 
about him. 

Again his respect for Max’s secret deterred him from 
questioning Pomp about her, but he instructed him to try 
to ascertain what she knew, and to communicate it to 
him if possible. 

So they parted, Horace to return to where he had left 
his horse, and Pomp to report his non-success in effecting 
a capture. 

But just as Horace reached his horse, he was discovered 
by the plotters, Don Felipe having now recovered. 

As they made a second dash at him, he sought to wrench 
loose the halter-strap, and instead drew it into an inextri- 
cable knot. There was no time to lose. He drew his 
knife, cut the strap, sprang into the saddle, and a second 
time eluded his determined pursuers. 

“But dis vill suffice to track him mit !” said Dr. Rein- 
hardt, triumphantly, as he secured the end of the halter- 
strap. 

While Don Felipe went for the hound and horses. Pomp 
finished excavating the grave, and the plotters satisfied 
themselves that the body had indeed been taken. 

This assurance seemed to unnerve Don Felipe more than 


132 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


anything previous had done ; but, at the same time, it 
made him more reckless, and wilder in his savage rebel- 
lion against adverse fate. 

Taking the scent from the halter-strap, the hound set 
out on the trail of the horse Horace rode, and led the plot- 
ters to a wayside tavern, where they learned that Horace, 
on coming down, had left his own horse to rest, while he 
rode a fresh animal to Biloxi ; and, on going back, had se- 
cured his own, leaving the one they had followed in the 
stable. 

“ Carajo ! we are defeated !” growled the Spaniard, sav- 
agely. 

“Bat’s so, Massa Fillippi,” chuckled Pomp, inwardly. 
At least, his soul was his own. 

Dr. Eeinhardt said nothing ; but the dull, dogged fero- 
city which settled in his eyes showed that the whole man 
was being aroused to deadly purpose. 

Returning to the Cypresses, they found Donna Catalina 
pacing the length of the picture-gallery, gazing with a 
new expression in her eyes on the idols of her pride. 

“ What has detained you so long ?” she asked. “ It is so 
long past midnight. Could you not consider my sus- 
pense ?” 

“I fear that suspense is drawing to a close for all of us,” 
said Don Felipe, dejectedly. 

“ Why ? What has happened ?” 

“The body has certainly been exhumed, and — what I 
suppressed from you this afternoon, not wishing to add to 
your disquiet until assured of the worst — our friend here 
encourages us to hope that she may be resuscitated. ” 

“ What ? But she was dead !” 

“It appears not.” 

A moment of dead silence, in which Donna Catalina 
began to tremble violently. Then in scared tones she 
asked ! 

“ What is to be done ?” 

“We have played a losing g:ame. I see nothing but to 
make the best of our defeat.” 

“What?” cried Donna Catalina, her towering pride 
driving craven fear from the field. “Shall we be driven 
from this place — to prison, perhaps? Never !” 

That night Miss Carson disappeared from the Cypresses. 
A note explained all that she cared to convey to her ac- 
complices. 

“Spare yourselves speculation as to where or why I 
have gone. Be assured my absence is not flight. When I 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 


133 


have accomplished my purpose I will return. Until then 
I look to you to promote our common interests. 

“As for my charge, I am confident that rest is the only 
requisite. Let me advise you once more — send her back 
to her Northern home. Will you believe me when I say 
that you will find her love for the dead an inseparable ob- 
stacle to your wishes ?” 

On the following day Don Felipe and Dr. Reinhardt 
gave themselves to a systematic search for the man 
known to them as Dr. Wentworth. 

That afternoon Agatha felt as if she would stifie beneath 
that accursed roof -tree, and so went to ride, accompanied, 
as usual, by Pomp. 

“ Missy Gatty,” he said, when she had paused on an 
eminence to breathe her horse, and let her eye wander 
over the tree-tops to the shimmering sea. “ I’s got some- 
fin’ powerful ’portant to communicate to ye.” 

“ What is it. Pomp ?” 

“It’s about Massa Max,” replied Pomp, eying her nar- 
rowly, to observe the effect of that name. 

It was marked enough. She started violently, swept her 
glorious eyes toward the speaker, and then fiushed scarlet 
from chin to temple. 

Then, her chagrin leading her to assume a coldness and 
severity which was new in Pomp’s experience of her, she 
said : 

“ I cannot listen to you. I am pained as well as dis- 
pleased to know that you could betray one who must have 
deserved your love by his kindness.” 

“Oh, but dis ain’t dat !” cried Pomp, eagerly. He had 
heard from mammy that strange oath required of Agatha. 
“De Lo’d knows dis chile wouldn’t ’tray Massa Max, no 
sooner’n e’d bite his own head off. Dis hyer what I was 
gwine to say is all right. I’s only gwine to ast ye ef you 
was out in de grave-yard, an’ ef it was you dat screamed 
when Massa Fillippy seen the ghost’ ob Massa Max ? Dat’s 
all I was gwine to ast ye.” 

Agatha looked with a sudden glow of indignation at her 
servitor. 

“ So you have been placed as a spy upon me, have you ?” 
she said, falling into a sad error. “Well, return to your 
master and tell him to use worthier agents in the future. 
Henceforth I will ride alone.” 

During the days that followed, Agatha’s solitary rides 
were haunted by a new specter. 

Don Felipe had seen the ghost of Max Fenton. And he 


134 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


had shot at it. Agatha recalled Miss Carson’s strange de- 
fiance across Max’s coffin, in which she braved Don Fe- 
lipe’s villainy, and intimated that he and the rest rejoiceu 
in Max’s death. The hostility between these men, she in- 
ferred, was over Madalena. She knew that it was Miss 
Carson who had screamed. Then she recalled her wail : 

“Oh, he is dead! he is dead! — that villain has killed 
him.” 

Then came her savage eagerness to prevent Agatha from 
seeing what the burial-lot contained ; and the blood — 
there was no mistake about that ; it was real blood. Some 
one had been shot — a man whom Don Felipe had mistaken 
for the dead and buried Max Fenton — some one whom 
Miss Carson mourned with an anguish only possible to a 
woman who loves. But Miss Carson loved the real Max. 
Who, then, was this other ? 

One day these deep meditations made her oblivious to 
an approaching storm, until roused by the rush of chill 
wind which immediately preceded the rain-fall. Discov- 
ering a thin spiral of smoke rising above the trees, sherode 
into the wood which bordered the highway, and discov- 
ered a rude cabin. The door opened as she rode up, and 
Miss Carson appeared on the threshold. 

In dismay Agatha drew rein. The next instant Miss 
Carson sprang forward with a savage cry, caught Aga- 
tha’s bridle-rein, and presented a pistol full at her. 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 


135 


CHAPTER XXII. 
max! max! max!” 


It was a moment requiring prompt and decisive action. 
For the time Miss Carson seemed insane with passion. 

Digging her spur into her horse’s flank, Agatha flashed 
her whip across the mare’s eyes. The spirited animal 
gathered itself on its haunches, and gave a bound into the 
air, hurling Miss Carson to the ground. 

The next instant Agatha was flying toward the high- 
way, blinded by the great drops of rain that now pelted 
her in the face. 

She heard cries of rage and the ring of pistol-shots, but 
the bullets flew wide of their mark. Her brain was on 
fire. She had but one thought — the mysterious cabin and 
what it contained. 

He— it must be he ! — she knew it — was there. Dead ? 
No, no — else that woman would not be guarding him with 
such ferocious solicitude. Dying ? Oh, it could not be. 
Not he, not he. 

In a very excited state she reached home, and then sat 
down with her dizzy head between her hands, to search 
for an end in the tangled skein. 

First, she believed that there had been a mistake in the 
identity of the man who was buried. This was the easier 
for her, inasmuch as she had not seen the face of the dead 
Max. 

But why, being alive, had he left her, with the rest of 
the world to believe him dead ? She could not answer 
that ; yet she held fast to the conviction that he loved 
her. 

And she would go to him. She was resolved upon that. 
Death, perhaps, stood in the way ; but she would brave it. 
Somehow it seemed that, once reunited with him, no 
human power could separate them again this side of the 


grave. 

Helpless, perhaps dying, he needed her— he was calling 
to her. At the mercy of that terrible woman’s tigerish 
love, what might she not do to him in some moment of 
jealous fury? 

From that moment Agatha Malden’s whole soul was 


136 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


given to the problem how to elude Max Fenton’s fierce 
guardian, and penetrate his prison. 

She could but ride forth every day as usual and watch 
for some opportunity when Miss Carson was away from 
her charge. 

That opportunity was not long delayed. Let us see how 
it came about. 

For days Max Fenton lay in delirium from the wound 
in his head. During that time Miss Carson hung over 
him, much as a tigress might have watched a sick cub. 

The mask of iron immobility which she wore before the 
world was put aside. Day and night she watched him 
with a wild despair in her face. She shivered when he 
moaned ; she winced when any contortion of face or body 
showed that he was in pain. 

Her jealous love denied him a physician. “ Now he is 
all my own,” she whispered to herself. “They would 
separate us. No 1 no ! no one shall approach him. I 
brought him here when that devil would have killed 
nim. He belongs to me. I will nurse him back to life. 
Oh ! will he see ? — will he repay me a little — just a little ? 
It is all my life. That which others receive as their due, 
and hold with a careless hand, has been denied me. I 
alone have been faithful to him. Why — why cannot he 
give me a little — oh, so little would satisfy me — in return ? 
Am I so — so — repulsive ” 

But her plaint was lost in sobs. 

Loss of sleep and the unremitted strain of anxiety and 
conflicting emotions made her haggard and wild -eyed. 
She was scarcely accountable for that mad outburst when 
chance sent Agatha to her place of hiding. 

“She ! she ! of all God’s creatures I” cried the distracted 
woman, when Agatha had escaped. “ I know it ! — I feel 
it ! — she is destined to rob me. No I no ! the Spaniard 
shall remove her from my path. I will fire his blood until 
he dares to abduct her. If he fail, my own hand — my 
own hand ” 

Meanwhile, under her nursing Max had so far recovered 
as to be conscious of his surroundings and of passing 
events. His immediate demand was for Horace War- 
wick. 

The woman knew that this must come, yet she clung 
with desperate pertinacity to her undivided possession of 
him. With a tenderness which could not have been sur- 
passed by a mother’s love she overbore his weakness and 
deferred the dreaded moment. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


137 


But the next day he was strong enough to give her di- 
rections where to find his friend and insist upon her fetch- 
ing him. 

With despair in her heart, she went. 

Horace Warwick, on his part, was in a sore dilemma. 
He feared that Max was dead ; and yet he dared take no 
legitimate means of huntng him up, lest he should unwit- 
tingly frustrate the end of that unaccountable delusion 
of the world into the belief that he had died in the wreck. 

Meanwhile, Madalena was convalescing, and, to further 
this improvement, Horace took her carriage riding, and 
met a certain black-eyed belle into whose sovereignty 
May’s blonde beauty had made sad inroads. Her recog- 
nition of Mr. Warwick was most elaborate ; and the way 
her black eyes fastened upon Madalena was a revelation 
in that malicious delight which ladies occasionally in- 
dulge, when they get each other in chancery, so to speak. 

“My dear,” was her effusive salutation of May, not two 
hours later — she hadn’t let the grass grow under her feet 
— “ I’ve had a charming ride. And whom do you think I 
met, in the company of the most beautiful lady I think I 
ever saw? Not your style, dear, nor mine, quite; but 
with great, dark, Spanish eyes, contrasting with an inter- 
esting pallor. ‘ The beautiful convalescent, ’ I dubbed her, 
on the spot. But I have never seen her in society. You 
sly-boots ! — why have you never told me that you and Mr. 
Warwick had such a Peri hidden away in your sylvan 
Paradise, somewhere ? But, mon Dieu I you Northern 
ladies are so strange. I should die of jealousy if I knew 
that my husband was driving alone With so dangerous a 
rival. What confidence you must have in his loyalty, or 
in your own powers of fascination, my dear. Ah ! you 
cold-blooded Northerners !” 

And the speaker shook her curls merrily ; but her 
laughing eyes never lost a change in May’s countenance. 

But she was disappointed. This little woman, so weak, so 
almost childish, in all else, developed on the instant a 
Spartan fortitude in hiding the deepest wound she had 
ever received in her life. 

Until that moment she had never dreamed of her hus- 
band’s having a secret from her, aside from business mat- 
ters, in which she took no interest, and could not have 
understood anyway. But while that malicious tongue 
was dropping its poisoned honey, she recalled an air of 
anxiety, a lack of freedom in some of his answers, and a 
slight touchiness of temper, which she had vaguely at- 


138 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


tributed to the vexation of that mysterious business which 
had kept her husband so much from her side. 

But instead of betraying that the shaft head pierced her 
heart of hearts, she looked her guest in the eye, and said, 
gravely : 

“I hope that you will not refer to the subject before 
Horace, dear. It is a very sad case, and has caused us all 
great pain. The lady is an invalid in heart as well as in 
body. If my husband can do anything to ease her suffer- 
ing, far be it from me to grudge so little out of my abun- 
dance. ” 

Checkmate for Miss Mischief-maker. She stammered 
her sympathy, and was ready to tear her hair at what 
she supposed her false step. 

When May got alone she had half an hour of such weep- 
ing as had never come into her life before. Then a sud- 
den thought came to her, bringing a strange calm. She 
removed every trace of agitation, dressed with consum- 
mate care, and, when the dinner hour brought her hus- 
band, received him with her wonted sweetness. 

Horace, who had been “ on the ragged edge” all day, 
breathed easier. No mischief had been done yet, he said 
to himself. Ah ! had he known ? 

The following day Miss Carson rode up to Madalena’s 
retreat on horseback. Horace went to the door. 

“Is this Mr. Warwick?” she asked. 

“It is.” 

“ Have you a saddle-horse ready for immediate use ?” 

“Certainly.” 

“I am sent to conduct you to your friend, Mr. Fenton.” 

“What! Max?” cried Horace, forgetting himself in the 
excitement of this abrupt announcement. 

Miss Carson did not reply. Her eyes had become sud- 
denly fixed in the rigidity of one in a fit. They were 
looking beyond Horace. 

He turned to see what had so markedly affected her. 

In the door- way behind him stood Madalena, her face 
reflecting the stony expression of Miss Carson's. 

“In Heaven’s name !” cried Horace, springing to her. 

She clutched his arms in a vise-like grip, and staring 
into his eyes, demanded : 

“He is alive ? — he is alive ?” 

But before he could answer she uttered a piercing 
scream, and threw herself backward on the floor in a 
strong fit of hysteria. 

Lifting her into his arms, he bore her into her chamber. 


A GODDESS n EXILE. 


139 


When he had placed her on the bed he found Miss Carson 
already at his side, she having leaped from her horse and 
entered the house. 

With wild, incredulous eyes, this strange woman gazed 
upon the rigid form and contorted face of the victim of 
her treachery, muttering to herself : “Alive alive I my 
God I” Aloud she said : “ This fit is of no consequence. 
Her attendant here will tell you so. Do not let it delay 
your going to your friend. For days he has been delirious 
from a pistol wound, so that I could not learn of your 
whereabouts. Now his anxiety to see you is so great that 
I fear the consequences of returning without you.” 

Giving the writhing Madalena into the care of her 
nurse, Horace lost no time. 

The moment he had joined Miss Carson in the saddle, he 
said : 

“Tell me all about my friend. I know that he was 
wounded, but nothing further.” 

“I cannot now,” replied Miss Carson. “I have another 
errand to combine with this. You must ride on alone to 
a certain point which I will designate, where I will join 
you. ” 

Then she directed him, carefully and left him. 

Alone, she spurred her horse and rode like the wind. 

“ She must be removed at all hazards !” she kept repeat- 
ing to herself. “ How could they have so bungled ? Alive ! 
— my God ! alive !” 

Never drawing rein until she dashed up the entrance of 
the Cypresses, her horse gasping and reeking with sweat, 
this woman, of iron and ice externally and of molten lava 
within, strode past Don Felipe, who came in amazement 
to the door to admit her, and entered the picture-gallery, 
where Donna Catalina sat bolt upright in her Queen 
Anne chair, and Dr. Reinhardt stood on the hearth with 
lowering brows. 

The three plotters had been holding very gloomy coun- 
sels. They knew not in what direction to look for the 
blow which might fall at any moment without an instant’s 
warning. 

“Well, what have you done?” demanded Miss Carson, 
looking from Dr. Reinhardt’s sullen visage to Don Felipe’s 
fear-hunted face. 

“Nothing,” said the latter, dejectedly. 

“ You have not traced the men who despoiled the grave 
of its dead ?” 

“No.” 


140 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“Well, I have done better than that.” 

“What have you done?” cried Don Felipe, eagerly, 
while his mother started forward in her chair. 

“I have traced her whom they removed.” 

“Madalena’s body?” 

“Madalena, alive and well.” 

“For dioz.” 

Donna Catalina sprang to her feet. 

“ Alive — alive !” she gasped. 

“We must regain possession of her,” said Dr. Eein- 
hardt, coolly. “ Senor Carrera, it put you in vone awk- 
ward position. It vill not do to remofe her again soon. ” 

Don Felipe ground his teeth with glittering eyes. 

“ Where is she ?” he asked. 

Miss Carson directed him to the locality, and explained 
Madalena’s unprotected condition. 

“But you must act at once,” she said, “and in such a 
manner that it will be imagined that she left of her own 
accord. No matter how, but that will be the interpreta- 
tion put upon her disappearance, if she is got off without 
arousing her attendant. ” 

“Leaf dot to me,” said Dr. Eeinhardt. 

“Will you order me a fresh horse, and accompany me as 
far as the gate ?” asked Miss Carson, turning to Don Fe- 
lipe. 

He complied. 

“Are you a coward?” she asked, abruptly, when they 
were alone. 

He flushed under her searching eye, as he replied : 

“ I have thought that I dare meet any danger which 
stands in the way of a strong desire. ” 

“Why, then, do you palter with this woman who has 
infatuated you?” 

“Miss Malden?” asked the Spaniard, frowning with 
the resentment he always felt at any interference where 
she was concerned. 

“Yes. In olden times men took the women they 
wanted.” 

“Physically, yes. But a woman’s love cannot be 
coerced with her body.” 

Miss Carson laughed scornfully. 

“And do you hope for her love? Why, she is as much 
infatuated with another as you are with her. ” 

“But he is dead.” 

“So you thought Madalena dead,” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


141 


Don Felipe stopped and stared at the speaker. Her 
manner, her tone, conveyed more than her words. 

“ What do you mean ?” he asked breathlessly. 

“ I mean this,” said Miss Carson, with an intensity that 
set the Spaniard’s blood aflame. “If you want that 
woman, capture her — at once ! Do you hear ? Now ! If 
you delay, it will be too late.” 

And putting the spur to her horse, she dashed away. 

A moment Don Felipe stared after her, dumb'. Then he 
shouted : 

“ By Heaven, I will !” 

As he turned toward the house he was accosted by no 
less a person than the plausible Perkins, who presented 
himself with the oiliest complaisance. 

The cold hauteur and suspicion which the Spaniard met 
the first advance of the stranger of doubtful antecedents 
suddenly thawed, nay, gave place to a fever glow of cor- 
diality. He grasped the hand of the delighted flunkey, 
and, after a rapid exchange of questions and answers, 
hurried him to the house — indeed, into the presence of 
even so uncompromising a stickler for caste as Donna 
Catalina herself. 

Meanwhile, Miss Carson had rejoined Horace Warwick. 

Once more his impatience plied her with questions ; but 
in the midst of her story of Max’s escape from the Span- 
iard’s murderous pistol, he heard her utter a sudden cry 
of concentrated rage, and saw her spur her horse from 
his side at a break-neck pace. 

Down the road, just on the crown of a slight eminence, 
he caught a vanishing sight of the apparent cause of this 
sudden outburst — a lady mounted on a milk-white palfrey. 

It was Agatha Malden. Just as she reached the crest of 
a slight rise in the road she had discovered Miss Carson 
and a gentleman of whom she noticed only the fact that 
he was not Max. Like a flasn came the fact that the se- 
cluded cabin was unguarded — she was nearer to it, by 
perhaps a quarter of a mile, than Miss Carson. She might 
never have such a chance again. She wheeled her horse 
and dashed away, just as her enemy, recognizing her, 
sprang in pursuit. 

It was a mad race. The palfrey was mettlesome, but 
Miss Carson’s mount was fresher. 

On, on ! they flew, until, as Agatha turned into the lane 
which led to the cabin. Miss Carson was almost upon her, 
while Horace, on his jaded horse, was at least a quarter 
of a mile behind. 


142 


A GODDESS iJV EXILE. 


As she dashed down the lane, scarcely more than a 
bridle-path, choked with the branches of trees that grew 
on either side, Agatha’s hat was torn off, her hair pulled 
down, and her face cruelly lacerated. Half-blinded she 
reached the door-stone, and threw herself from the sad- 
dle. Her dress, catching in the stirrup, threw her heavily 
to the ground. 

Raging like a wild beast. Miss Carson sought to trample 
her rival under her horse’s feet. But at the last bound, 
had he taken which, her horse must have crashed headlong 
into the side of the house, the animal revolted against bit 
and spur, and reared so as nearly to unseat bis rider. 

In that moment Agatha scrambled to her feet, burst 
open the cabin door, and rushed in, crying, wildly ; 

“ Max ! Max ! Max !” 

An answering cry from an adjoining room ; and the 
hunted creature staggered in just as he had risen to a sit- 
ting posture in bed, and fell fainting upon his breast. 

But her arms were about his neck, his arms infolded her 
in a close embrace, and she was safe. 

Outside Miss Carson crouched like a mad thing, listen- 
ing to the sounds within, not daring to enter and witness 
the death of hope. 

And neither knew aught of that insignificant bit of yel- 
low ribbon, yet precious clew, which the plausible Perkins 
treasured as priceless. 

But Horace Warwick was coming. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


143 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

AN INEXORABLE JUDGE. 

Breathlessly, Horace Warwick dashed to the cabin to 
find that strange woman crouching on the door-stone. 
She seemed crushed, almost imbecile ; and yet she was 
so wild-eyed that he was almost afraid of her. 

“In Heaven’s name ! what is the matter?” he asked. 

Mutely she motioned him to enter. 

A prey to vague fear, he obeyed her. 

He heard the voice of Max Fenton murmuring : 

“ My darling ! my darling ! At last — oh, at last !” 

“Thank God he is alive.” 

And Horace sprang into the room, crying : 

“ Max ! Max ! old ” 

But there the words died upon his lips. He had rushed 
in upon his friend, sitting upright in bed with a bandage 
about his head, indicating where Don Felipe’s bullet had 
ranged, holding an unconscious woman clasped to his 
breast — a woman whose disheveled hair fell about her like 
a vail, but through it Max had gained possession of her 
lips, and was kissing her rapturously, while he called to 
her with every endearing epithet. 

Horace knew that it was the woman who had fied before 
Miss Carson ; but, her face being hidden by her abundant 
hair, he did not recognize Agatha. 

At the sound of his friend’s voice Max looked up, not 
with that glad greeting with which Horace had rushed to 
meet him, but plainly with the woman holding the first 
place in his heart and thoughts. 

“Your assistance, chum,” he said. “Take her gently. 
It is the most precious charge I can give you. I wouldn’t 
trust her to any one in the world but you.” 

His face was irradiated with a love unspeakable. 

“Horace,” he cried, his voice thrilling with the great 
emotion that swayed him, “God has compensated you for 
all — all. I intend to put the dark past behind me, and be 
the happiest man in all the glad earth. Take her into the 
next room. I want to be alone a moment to realize it all.” 


144 


A GODDESS IN EXILE 


Yet again, as loth to let her go, he clasped her close, 
clinging to her lips, and whispering her name coupled 
with sweet words of love. Then he gave her into the 
arms of his friend. 

Still her face was hidden in her hair. Would Horace 
Warwick have taken her in his arms, in May’s place, 
had he known ? 

Max watched his darling out of the room, then fell back 
among his pillows, and covered his face with his hands, 
to reproduce the loved face and form in his imagination. 

Outside, Miss Carson was now pacing back and forth, 
with that restlessness often witnessed in a caged animal, 
striking her hands together, and repeating to herself : 

“He swore to act on my suggestion, and take her by 
force. If I can only separate them, and give him the 
opportunity. My hand must not be seen in it, else I 
would crush her ; rend her ; tear her limb from limb. ” 

Meanwhile, Horace had laid Agatha on a settle, and 
gently pushed the hair from her face, with a natural curi- 
osity, to start back with a cry of astonishment, incredu- 
lity, dismay, anger. 

She here — the beloved of his heart-brother ! 

It was a staggering blow. It left Horace Warwick 
pale, still, resolute. His iron will determined to bring 
her wiles to naught, at any cost. 

What passed between her and him must not be over- 
heard by any one — most of all by Max. He tiptoed to the 
door leading to Max’s chamber, and peeping through the 
crevice at the hinge edge, saw his friend still lying with 
his face covered by his hands. 

With a quick motion he slammed the door, as if it had 
been blown to by the wind, and his point was secured. 

So strong was his prejudice thafc he would not again 
touch Agatha himself, and to call Miss Carson would de- 
feat his purpose of seclusion when Agatha revived. 

Contenting himself with fanning her with his hat, he 
waited for nature to resume her functions. 

Presently Agatha sighed, moved uneasliy, opened her 
eyes, which wandered vacantly until she encountered a 
man standing over her with folded arms, and regarding 
her sternly ; then with a low cry of fear she started to a 
sitting posture, to cower before her accuser, panting and 
gazing at him with a dumb, despairing appeal in her eyes 
that must have moved a heart of stone — but not Horace 
Warwick’s. Would he, out of the stubbornness of his 
prejudice against this woman, save her from that other t 


'A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


145 


“For your sake,” he began, as hard as adamant, “we 
will speak guardedly. In the next room is one whom per- 
haps you would not wish to hear what I could tell, if you 
make it necessary to speak. Because he is my nearest 
and dearest friend, my almost brother, I have no desire 
to open his eyes to the truth, unless he can be saved in no 
other way. But I am resolved to save him. At the same 
time I do not wish to be hard on you. Go away from here 
without seeing him, promising never to seek him in the 
future, and so avoid him if he seek and find you, and he 
shall know nothing. ” 

Now this woman, who once before had been at his feet, 
clasped her hands, and said, in a voice whose piteous ca- 
dences touched even his heart, but did not bend his will : 

“You don’t know what you ask. It is my heart, my 
life, my everything.” 

He shook his head, with iron-locked lips. 

His reply was these pitiless words : 

“ He is an honest man.” 

At that the woman started to her feet, with that same 
queenly self-assertion which had momentarily over- 
powered him in distant Cambridge. But now her emotion 
did not find words. She raised her despairing face to 
heaven and clasped her head in her hands, with a long- 
drawn, quavering moan: 

“0-o-o-hl” 

Then she said, brokenly : 

“ I will go, I will go.” 

And staggered toward the door. 

Horace Warwick’s heart smote him. 

“You know that it is not that I seek to cause you 
pain ” 

But she whirled upon him in sudden fury. 

“Not a word — not a word. You have crushed my 
heart ; let that suffice you. I do your bidding. May you 
never live to know ” 

But she broke off abruptly, and rushed from the house 
in an agony of stifled sobs, moaning : 

“May, oh. May !” 

She paid no heed to Miss Carson, who stared at her in 
amazement. As she gathered up the bridle-rein, the 
white mare nibbled at her sleeve, whinnying softly and 
affectionately. 

This manifestation of love from a dumb brute, at a time 
when her heart was so sore, overcame her. She gathered 
the head of the beautiful animal to her bosom, and wept 


146 A GODDESS IN EXILE, 

and sobbed while she caressed it. Then she mounted and 
rode away. 

To Miss Carson tnis was inexplicable. 

Trembling with excitement, she now entered the cabin. 

The outer room was deserted. In Max’s chamber, the 
door to which was closed, she could hear voices in earnest 
conversation. She could not distinguish the words, until 
the tones were raised in anger. 

After Agatha’s withdrawal, Horace entered Max’s 
chamber and closed the door. 

“Has she recovered?” was Max’s immediate and eager 
salutation. 

“Yes,” replied Horace, with perhaps a touch of jeal- 
ousy. “ But have you no greeting for your friend ?” 

“ Yes, yes, old chum. But you must expect shameful 
ingratitude from me for a time. Heavens and earth, man ! 
I’m in love for the first time in my life. Let her come 
in, Horace — there’s a good fellow. What was the mat- 
ter ? Why did she rush in upon me so wildly ?” 

“Stop, Max !” said Horace. “You are exciting yourself 
unduly. Listen. I have something of grave importance 
to tell you. You have not yet inquired about the woman 
we took from the grave.” 

That ill-omened reference struck a chill to Max’s soul. 
He looked at his friend piteously, with the blood sud- 
denly gone from his lips. 

“ What is it ?” he asked. 

“Max, prepare for a shock.” 

“ Poisoned ?” 

“ No. Far from it. You have known of people lying in 
trances.” 

“Horace! Horace!” 

With those sharp, explosive articulations, he grasped 
his friend’s arm. 

“Max, she is alive — and well !” 

“ My God !” 

He fell back on his pillow. Now he stood face to face 
with black despair. 

For a time an awful silence prevailed. Then, in a chok- 
ing voice. Max said, without uncovering his face : 

“Horace, don’t let her come here — Miss — Malden — I 
mean.” 

“She is gone. Max.” 

He started up in astonishment. 

“She left before I returned to you.” 


A GODDESS IN EXILK 147 

“And you sent her away. You told her this damnable 
thing ?” cried Max. 

“Wait, Max. Remember, I know nothing of the other 
— not even her name. I could tell nothing.” 

“ But you suspected something. And you sent Miss 
Malden away. That was not the part of a friend. I would 
have told you the situation, and left you to decide the 
rest as you saw fit. She came to me with her whole heart 
and soul. You took her away and returned in ten minutes 
with the intelligence that she was gone. ” 

While speaking, the sick man got out of bed. 

“ Max,” cried his friend, “ what are you about to do ?” 

‘‘lam going to walk straight through Hades, if neces- 
sary,” cried Max. “I am going to claim Agatha Malden, 
in spite of man, God, and the devil.” 

He essayed to draw on his pantaloons ; but his head 
swam, and Horace caught him. 

“Max,” he said, gravely, “you are an honorable man, 
and would not dishonor a woman whom you professed to 
love. If what your words seem to indicate is true, can 
you seek Miss Malden without wrong to her ?” 

“God help me! no,” groaned Max, allowing himself to 
be put back in bed. 

' Having been put in possession of all the facts relating 
to Madalena, Max expressed a wish to see her. Horace 
went for her, and returned on the following day with the 
intelligence that she had disappeared. 

“She went on that wild, sir, after you was gone,” had 
been Mrs. Seeley’s explanation,'* that I thought she’d gone 
a’most clean daft. But by night she was more quiet, and 
I left her, thinking that she’d rest comfortable. But this 
morning the room was empty. And that’s all I know 
about it. ” 

Upon hearing this. Max expressed his determination to 
go at once to the Cypresses. A carriage was procured, 
and the party set out. 

Miss Carson had not recovered from the shock of Aga- 
tha’s meeting with Max. She now knew his true state of 
feeling. A portentous hush was upon her, like that which 
precedes a volcanic irruption. 

When Max and Horace had been ushered into the pict- 
ure-gallery, where, amid the monuments of her pride, 
Donna Catalena had decided to receive them, Miss Carson 
detained Don Felipe a moment in the hall. 

“You secured Madalena?” 

“Yes.” 


148 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


“ And — that other ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Where are they ?” 

“In the west wing.” 

“ What ! in this house — and he here ?” 

“Bah ! We have a checkmte in readiness for him.” 

“Go! Go!” 

She pushed him toward the door, and he entered, never 
suspecting her mad purpose. 

With her face like that of Medusa, she went toward the 
wing where Madalena had so long been secluded from the 
world. Before opening the secret door, she drew from 
her bosom a Spanish stiletto with a pearl handle, and a 
long, glittering blade. 

“ If thou would st that thy work be well done, do it thy- 
self !” she quoted. “ I am fighting against destiny. I 
must trust only to my own arm. He will get them — both. 
But how ? Ha, ha, ha !” 

And she glided through the door, where her two rivals 
waited at her mercy. 

In the picture-gallery another scene was in progress. 

Max was surprised at his reception. Instead of causing 
dismay, his coming seemed to be expected. 

Don Felipe’s manner was marked by a strange blending 
of insolence and apprehension. 

Under Dr. Reinhardt’s phlegmatic self-possession was 
the sullen ferocity of a man who had placed all on a single 
die. If it failed 

Donna Catalina sat in stony hauteur, but she seemed 
consumed by an internal fire. Her left hand lay in her 
lap, covered by her handkerchief. 

“Whom have we the honor of receiving?” asked Don 
Felipe, addressing Max as a stranger. 

“This,” replied Max, “is my friend, Mr. Warwick. For 
myself, being at home, I require no introduction.” 

“I beg your pardon, senor !” exclaimed Don Felipe, 
smiling a polite surprise. “ Did I understand you to say 
that you were at home ?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Senor honors me. Of course he is at home, in the 
sense that he is my guest. May I know by what name 
I am to address him ?” 

“ As James Maxwell Fenton.” 

Don Felipe arched his eyebrows. 

“But James Maxwell Fenton is dead and buried.” 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


149 


“Then you mean to contest this matter on a question of 
identity ?” 

“One moment, senor, and you shall have your answer.” 

Don Felipe touched a bell. 

The door opened to give admittance to the plausible 
Perkins, followed by a sheriff’s posse. 

“Gov’nor,” said the valet, with an insolent nod to Max, 
“we’ve come for you. You’ll find the hextradition papers 
all straight, and they calls for one Maxwell Fenton, es- 
caped convict from Botany Bay. ” 

And this was Max’s moment of triumph. 


150 


A QODDESa IN EXILE. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A QUESTION OF IDENTITY. 

Horace Warwick was thunderstruck. 

“In Heaven’s name, Max, what is this?” he cried. 

“Wait?” said Max, coolly. “Let him develop his 
scheme. ” 

“Perkins,” he pursued, “do you recognize in me, not 
Maxwell Fenton, the fugitive convict, but James Maxwell 
Fenton, your one-time master ?” 

There was something in this direct appeal which seemed 
to disconcert the valet. Instead of replying to Max, he 
turned to the officers of the law. 

“You’ll find ’im a slippery one to ’andle, besides being 
as like my poor dead master as two ’ens heggs, so that 
the hordinary tests of identification won’t ’old.” 

He then gave an outline of the plot, and its consumma- 
tion in murder, as he supposed, at which Max observed : 

“You seem to have a very thorough knowledge of the 
purpose of this impostor. ” 

“As ’ow shouldn’t I,” was the ready response, “ w’en 
my master discovered the ’ole thing the day of the wreck? 
Honly that you was ’is ’alf-brother, ’ed ’ave given you 
hup to the law.” 

“Very shrewdly guessed. But if these two were so 
identical in appearance that Miss Malden could not distin- 
guish them, as you claim, how could you tell which it 
was that came from the cabin, as you have described ?” 

“Heasy enough,” cried Perkins, triumphantly. “Didn’t 
you wear a ribbon in your button-’ole? And ’aven’t I got 
it ’ere, as I took it from you in the water, w’en I saved your 
life ? — not for any love I ’ad for you, you may bet ’igh, but 
as that my master might not go unavenged.” 

And the valet held aloft the clew he alone had held. If 
he expected the sight of it to disconcert Max, he was dis- 
appointed. Coolly he who laid claim to the Cypresses and 
to Agatha Malden’s love pursued : 

“ It appears, then, that there was an arrangement be- 
tween you and the plotting convict, by which you were to 
be able to distinguish him. Were you his accomplice?” 


A GODDESS 73 EXILE. 


151 


The valet turned livid. He had never dreamed of his 
foe taking so bold a stand. 

“You see, gents,” he said, again turning to the officers, 
“as ’ow ’e’s a slippery one, as I said. This ’ere’ll show as 
’ow a smart rogue might get the start of a honest man. 
If it was only my word against ’is, ’e’d squirm about 
some’ow, so ’e’d make me hout the murderer. But ’ere’s 
a thing w’at ’e can’t get over— ’e can’t put a little toe on 
’is left foot, as the description says as ’ow the man we’re 
hafter ’ad one hoffi” 

This was his coup d’ etat. 

“Gentlemen,” asked Max of the officers, “does your 
identification of Maxwell Fenton turn upon this point ?” 

“It does,” replied the chief. 

“Hoff with your boot, guv’nor !” cried the triumphant 
valet, jeeringly. 

“ What do you think of the situation so far, chum ?” 
asked Max, suddenly turning to his friend. 

Horace was agog with bewilderment. 

“Why, Max,” he stammered, “of course you are Max ; 
but I confess that this has left me breathless.” 

“You do not doubt my identity, then?” 

“I can’t think otherwise than that you are Max ; and 
yet it is very strange. In Heaven’s name, how can you 
establish yourself, the other being dead.” 

“Let us see. In the first place, I distinctly declare my- 
self to be James Maxwell Fenton, of the Cypresses, near 
Biloxi, Mississippi, the only legitimate son of Maxwell 
Fenton, of Berkshire, England. ” 

He then gave an account of the discovery and frustra- 
tion of convict Max’s plot, concluding : 

“ As protection against the treachery of yonder paltry 
knave, who might have taken advantage of the excite- 
ment and my engrossment with the care of Miss Malden 
to strike me a blow in the back, I exchanged coats with 
Maxwell Fenton, and for the time assumed his identity in 
the eyes of my valet. He saved me, it seems, thinking 
that he was saving his accomplice, whom he was fond of 
calling his goose with the golden egg. Indeed, so jealous 
was he in behalf of the man from whom he expected to re- 
ceive ten thousand pounds for his share in the imposture 
that, to give him place on the spar Which would sustain 
but two, he knocked Captain Babbitt off, to his death. 
See the craven. His bloodless face, his tottering knees, 
attest the truth of my accusation of murder. But here is 
conclusive proof of my identity.” 


152 


A 0 ODD ESS IN EXILE. 


And removing his boot, he showed a foot with its full 
complement of toes. 

“This afternoon the body buried under my name shall 
be disinterred, and examination will discover a wax toe, 
so cunningly wrought as to escape casual observation, and 
to require some force to detach it from the foot. 

“Hold ! no one is to leave the room. Officers, here are 
warrants for the arrest of the members of another con- 
spiracy. ” 

At that moment, when Max Fenton proved his identity 
beyond the shadow of a doubt, by exposing his foot, 
Donna Catalina removed her left hand from beneath her 
handkerchief, and carried it to her lips. Then she called 
in low, quavering tones to her son. 

As he came to her side, she put her hand in his. He 
started with a sharp ejaculation, essaying to snatch his 
hand away, but she clung to it, urging : 

“ It is ail that is left us. Would you wait for infamy 

At this moment Max drew from his pocket the war- 
rants of which he had spoken, and was in the act of pre- 
senting them to the sheriff, while a terrific struggle was 
going on between Dr. Reinhardt, to whose attempts to 
escape from the rooms he had called attention, and sev- 
eral of the officers who sprang to detain him. The Ger- 
man fought like a maniac, repeatedly discharging a self- 
cocking pistol, even after his captors had thrown him to 
the ffoor. 

In the mad hubbub, Don Felipe saw his opportunity, 
drew a pistol, and fired at Max, then leaped through the 
window, crashing through glass and sash. 

Max threw up his hands and swayed, to be caught in the 
arms of his friends. His dizziness was but momentary, 
caused by the bullet passing so close as to turn the scalp, 
from which it clipped the hair. 

The house rang with piercing shrieks ; flying feet were 
heard coming down the stairs and along the corridor, and 
Agatha Malden, with streaming hair and terror-distended 
eyes, burst into the room, pursued by Miss Carson with 
a blood-dripping poniard. 


i ' t 


{ 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


153 


CHAPTER XXV. 

VINDICATION. 

Max Fenton rushed toward the woman of his love with 
a great heart-cry, and received her in his arms, while the 
officers sprang upon Miss Carson and disarmed her. 

They held in their grasp a raving maniac. 

Agatha clung to Max, sobbing hysterically. He was 
moved too deeply for words. The proof of her love made 
deeper the blackness of his despair. 

“Would to God that I might suffer alone !” was the cry 
of his soul. “ But she — she will not be spared.” 

But Horace advanced, and laid his hand on Agatha’s 
shoulder. 

“Enough of this!” almost roughly. “Where is your 
pledge ?” 

Max plucked the hand from the shoulder of the woman 
he loved. 

“ Horace, what is the meaning of this ?” he demanded. 
“You are beside yourself.” 

This was literally true. Horace Warwick’s pulses were 
bounding with fever, and his eyes gleamed with delirium. 

In that state he did and said things which he might 
otherwise not have done. 

“Will you force me to speak?” he demanded of Agatha, 
not heeding Max. 

“No, no!” she pleaded, submissively, withdrawing her 
self from Max’s arms. “ I will go.” 

“Very well. Go!” 

“ Stop !” cried Max, authoritatively, catching Agatha by 
the wrist and detaining her. “ Tiiis thing has gone too far 
to be passed over without explanation. What is this 
power which you wield over Miss Malden ? You sent her 
from me once before, and she went at your bidding.” 

“Oh, let me. go !” pleaded Agatha. 

“ No !” cried Max, his iron will aroused. “ I have a 
right to know this, and know it I will.” 

“Then know,” began Horace. 

A carriage containing a lady rolled up to the entrance 
of the Cypresses. At the sound of Horace’s voice, which 


164 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


came to her through the window by which Don Felipe had 
made his precipitate exit, she became greatly excited, and 
leaped from the carriage. 

Agatha’s voice and her own name next reached May 
Warwick, and she stopped with a sudden deathlj’- faint- 
ness, pressing her hand to her heart. 

Her jealousy aroused. May had resolved to detect her 
husband and then leave him forever. 

And now, in the very moment when the sound of her 
husband’s voice confirmed all her fears, and inspired with 
the strength and courage only known to a woman whose 
most sacred feeings have been outraged — now came her 
sister’s voice, making her weak and faint, she knew not 
exactly why. 

But the next instant she sprang up the steps and into 
the house, staying for no ceremony. 

“Then know,” persisted Horace,' not heeding Agatha’s 
distracted appeal, “that in the city of Boston this woman 
was arrested for the petty crime of shop-lifting. This 
is the creature who has tried to worm her way into the 
affections of an honest man.” 

With a scream, Agatha cowered to the floor, clapping 
her hands over her ears, as if to shut out the story of 
her shame. 

For a moment Max stood dumfounded. Then gaining 
the side of the crouching girl with a single stride, he lift- 
ed her by an exertion of strength which she could not 
resist, and placed her on his breast. 

“What !” cried Horace, witli blazing eyes, “do you hold 
her thus, after what I have told you ? You are infatuated 
indeed.” 

Max smiled calmly. 

“I don’t believe you!” he said, in a low tone whose 
perfect quiet indicated volumes. 

In that moment his heart-brother was less to him than 
a perfect stranger. 

“Speak !” thundered Horace, appealing to Agatha. 

She did not look at him. Her eyes had become fixed, 
her whole body rigid. She was looking toward the door, 
where she saw that which seemed to freeze her with 
dread. 

“It is true 1 it is true 1” she gasped, struggling to free 
herself from Max. 

“ Stop !” cried a voice which electrified all ; and May 
advanced into the room, having heard the charge from the 
door-way, and been for a moment paralyzed by the terri- 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


155 


ble situation, which she comprehended all in a flash. “ It 
is true, and yet false. Behind that wretched fact lies the 
heroism and self-sacriflce of the noblest woman God ever 
made, and the cowardice and selfishness of another, igno- 
ble in an equal degree.” 

“May ! May !” screamed Agatha, bursting from Max, and 
rushing toward her sister. 

But Horace sprang between them. 

“ My darling— you here ?” he cried, throwing an arm 
about May, while he kept Agatha away with his other out- 
stretched hand. 

But May slipped from his arm and stood alone. In that 
moment she was not struck with the strangeness of her 
sister’s presence there, or the even greater marvel of the 
Max Fenton who had been dead and buried standing be- 
fore her alive and well. She even forgot that her errand 
to that house was to detect her husband in infidelity. 
She had only one thought — Agatha loved ! and that love 
was threatened by the cloud that had so long hung over 
her. 

“ Listen !” she commanded, in a clear, ringing voice. 
“ It is time for me to speak. In our girlhood every wish 
of my sister and myself was anticipated by our father’s 
love and wealth. He failed, and, his death resulting 
almost immediately, his children found themselves 
orphaned and poor. My sister, Agatha, bore up nobly 
under this double burden ; I fretted with a thousand vain 
repinings. My only consolation was the fact that Horace 
Warwick did not consider my altered fortunes a bar to 
our marriage. While shopping with my sister, selecting 
the materials for my wedding outfit, so mean and poor 
contrasted with what I had anticipated for that occasion, 
a piece of costly lace lay on the counter near the cheaper 
materials we were forced to select. I was seized by a sud- 
den, uncontrollable longing to possess it, and, on the im- 
pulse, while the clerk’s back was turned, slipped it into 
my pocket. 

“ It was immediately missed, and in my agony of terror 
at the thought of having it found on my person, I trans- 
ferred it from my own pocket to my sister’s. It meant 
more to me than disgrace or any punishment the law 
could inflict — I knew that Horace would never marry a 
woman who had been detected in theft. 

“A policeman happening to pass the door, was called in. 
In my agitation I had left an end of the lace sticking from 
Agatha’s pocket. He saw it, and put his hand on her 


156 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 


shoulder. Then I realized what I had done, and fainted. 

“Horace secured our release — I don’t know how. When 
I returned to consciousness, I was in a carriage alone with 
Agatha, and learned that, to save me from Horace’s dis- 
pleasure, she had passively accepted the odium of my act 
— she, my noble sister, with her lofty soul, her immacu- 
late integrity, her exquisite sensitiveness. And I, for the 
sake of his love, let her remain crushed beneath that load 
of shame. 

“ Afterward, when I saw with what bitterness my hus- 
band ostracized her, as one association with whom was 
contaminating, I dared not confess the truth, as I had 
at first promised myself I would, as soon as I had so en- 
twined myself in his nature that he could not cast me off. 

“ But now I see that my sister’s life-happiness is at 
stake ; and, come what will to me, I exonerate her, and 
proclaim myself the thief. ” 

“Horace,” cried Max, with a sudden burst, “such an 
atonement must wipe out one impulsive fault. ” 

But Horace waved him back, and turned away. The 
next instant, with a startled cry. Max sprang forward and 
caught his friend in his arms, only in time to ease his fall 
to the fioor. 

May threw herself upon her husband, appealing to him 
wildly, until kindly hands led her away, and Horace was 
borne to a bed from which he was not to rise for weeks. 

Then a wild-eyed servant appealed to Max to go to the 
west wing, to see “Missy Madalena,” who was calling for 
him and “Missy Gatty.” 

Max’s heart contracted with a spasm of pain. Agatha 
heard the message, and went with him, externally calm, 
whatever her secret feelings might have been. 

They found Madalena unconscious, with the bed-clothes 
gathered close up to her chin. A stain of blood on her 
pillow brought back to Max’s recollection a fact which had 
escaped him — that the blade of Miss Carson’s stiletto had 
been bloody. 

With a cry he sprang forward and drew down the cover- 
let. The terrible truth was then apparent. 

Max found and temporarily bound up a ghastly wound 
in Madalena’s breast ; then he could only wait the arrival 
of the physician in quest of whom to attend Horace War- 
wick, Pomp had been sent on his fieetest horse. 

Taking Agatha aside, he then narrated to her the sad 
story of his wrecked life. 

“ It was while I was at Cambridge that my father con- 


A GODDESS m EXILE. 


157 


tracted his second marriage, with Donna Catalina. She 
was the widow of his dearest friend, one of Cuba’s mar- 
tyred patriots, and left in distressed circumstances by the 
death of her husband and the confiscation of his property. 
This, I think, was my father’s motive in marrying her. 

“ I was not called home to the wedding ; and, after 
graduation, I was sent to travel in Europe, without hav- 
ing visited home. I never saw my step-mother until I 
was summoned home by my guardian, with the added 
intelligence of my father’s death. From my guardian, 
our family lawyer, I learned that a most diabolical plot 
had been attempted against my father’s life and property, 
but discovered in time, and frustrated. However, it 
preyed upon his mind until his health gave way, and he 
found peace in death. He left me a solemn charge not to 
prosecute his wife or her accomplice. 

“I found that the household consisted of Donna Cata- 
lina, her son, Don Felipe, and a ward, Donna Madalena 
Barilla ; with Dr. Eeinhardt in constant attendance, as 
now. 

“ I was young — within a few months of my majority — 
and romantic and chivalric, as youths of that age are apt 
to be. When Madalena told me that she was the victim 
of persecution, and that it was proposed to marry her to 
Don Felipe, that the three harpies might make spoil of her 
prosperity, I immediately enlisted as her champion, and 
easily imagined myself in love with her, for her beauty had 
certainly captivated my fancy. 

“An elopement was the result. She then expressed a , 
wish to return to the Cypresses. She loved it, as she told 
me for my father’s sake, as well as for its wild beauty. 

“We returned. I soon discovered an intrigue between 
her and Don Felipe, which opened my eyes to the fact 
that she was but a tool in the hands of the others, 
and that I been made a most pitiable dupe. To es- 
cape being called to account, she attempted my life. 
Disgusted with the wreck I had made of my life, I left 
them all, unmolested, never returning until now. 

“ That is an outline. I cannot dwell upon the details of 
the wretched business. 1 wish you to know what there is 
in extenuation of my deportment toward you.” 

Max dropped his face into his hands, as his choked and 
broken utterances came abruptly to an end. 

Agatha placed her hana on his shoulder, but words 
failed her. That touch, however, spoke volumes to his 
sore heart. 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


16 ^ 

Then word came that Madalena was conscious and 
wished to see her husband and Miss Malden. 

She lay with her strange white hair disheveled on her 
pillow. Crouching on the bed beside her was the elf- 
child, Jacquita, wild-eyed with wonder, and trembling 
with vague fear. 

“Don’t speak — suspend your judgment — until I have 
told you all,” said Madalena, as Max, much moved, ap- 
proached the bed. “Ever since that terrible parting, now 
more than six years ago, I have longed for death, but it 
seemed as if I could not die until I had told you of the 
wretched misunderstanding from which all that unhappi- 
ness resulted. 

“You thought that I was untrue to you — that I leagued 
with the rest, all the while loving Don Felipe. That was 
not true. Not a single pulsation of my heart was ever 
for any one but you. ” 

“ Madalena. ” 

“Wait ! wait ! That appearance which led you to think 
that I met Felipe secretly, was a wicked plot to wreck our 
happiness. At the same time, by an equally vigorous de- 
vice, I was made to believe that an intrigue existed be- 
tween you and Miss Carson, my former governess, whom, 
because of her friendless position in the world, T retained 
as a sort of companion. 

“It was to revenge my fancied wrong that, in a fit of 
ungovernable jealous passion — because I loved you so en- 
tirely — I attempted your life. I never dreamed that you 
had a like suspicion against me. Now I know the only 
basis of my jealousy was the fact that, unknown to you, 
Miss Carson loved you with a hopeless passion.” 

“ And I have wronged you all these years ?” cried Max, 
seizing her hand, and dropping not unmanly tears 
upon it. 

“ Not willingly, I know !” said the dying woman, a halo 
of happiness irradiating her face. 

Then she turned to Agatha and said, archly, yet ah ! so 
pathetically : 

“You’ll not grudge me one kiss, will you?” 

And, as Max started ; 

“ Oh, I know your secret. Beginning with what Miss 
Carson revealed when she attempted both those visits to 
a certain grave. And, Max, don’t think that I carry any 
petty selfishness to the grave. I am glad that this hap- 
piness has come to you, as a recompense for all the 


A GODDESS IN EXILE, 159 

wretched past. Now may I have my kiss ?— from both of 
you?” 

She got more than one. 

“ Ana all these years you have been in hiding here ?” 
asked Max. “ Why ?” 

“They made me think that I was in danger of the law. 
It was their purpose to keep me thus shut away from the 
world, to prevent a possible reconciliation, and to have it 
in their power to avail themselves of any chance whicti 
might present itself to get possession of my property. 
These years of torture have turned my hair white, as you 
see. ” 

“And this?” said Max, putting his hand on Jacquita’s 
head. 

“Is our child.” 

All the mother vibrated in those three words. 

“ She has been kept away from me until now. I thought 
that my darling. had never seen the light of life. Think 
of it — six years under the same roof, and never a moment 
of the blessedness of mother-love. She doesn’t know me.” 

Ah, was there ever a more piteous cry ? 

“Yes, I do, mamma,” said the child, and nestled close 
down in the pillow with a look of unmistakable love. 

We draw the vail. 

It was late in the evening when a servant was found 
collected enough to think of going to Donna Catalina to 
ask if she would have food brought to her. 

My lady sat bolt upright in her chair — stone dead. 

A tiny vial which she had placed in Don Felipe’s hand, 
just before he fired at Max, lay at her feet, telling its own 
story. 

Don Felipe — he with whom the blOod-hound found such 
favor — was in turn hunted through poisonous swamps. 
Weak from exhaustion, the coward died miserably in a 
quagmire, to make food for alligators. 

From Dr. Reinhardt and the plausible Perkins the law 
exacted the full penalty for their atrocious crimes. 

Miss Carson was found to be hopelessly insane. 

For weeks May nursed her husband through fever and 
delirium. Her devotion expiated the past; and in the 
tenderness of convalescence his iron will bent, and he 
took her to his heart with full forgiveness. 


160 


A GODDESS IN EXILE. 


Under the starlit heavens Max stands with Agatha’s 
head on his breast and his arms about her. He has failed 
to guess her conundrum — what is her most cherished 
treasure ? 

When she tells him “ that telegraphic introduction of 
Lawyer Eawlinson’s,” her low, sweet laugh, and the mur- 
mur that comes from his lips shows that these two have 
tasted the full measure of bliss. 

[THE END.] 


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No. 64— YOUNG MRS. CHARNLEIGH, by T. W. Hanshew 25 

No. 63-BORN TO BETRAY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 62— A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 61— THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, by Hon. Evelyn Ashby 25 

No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. C. Williams 25 

No. 59— WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 25 

No. 58— KILDHURM’S OAK, by Julian Hawthorne 25 

No. 57— STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 25 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 25 

No. 55— ROXY HASTINGS, by P. Hamilton Myers 25 

No. 54— THE FACE OF ROSENFEL, by C. H. Montague 26 

No. 53- THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong 25 

No. 50 — MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 26 

No. 49-GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 26 

No. 48— THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 25 

No. 47 — SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards 25 



The Select Series. 

(Continued.) 

No. 46— A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. Bellamy 25 

No. 46 — WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame 25 

No. 44— A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 42— A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUins 25 

No. 41— BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 40— AT A GIRL’S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 26 

No. 37— IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE by Bertha M. Clay....*. 25 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 35 — CECILE’S MARRIAGE by Lucy Rn^dall Comfort 25 

No. 34— THE LITTL? WIDOW, by JuUa Edwards 25 

No. 33— THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess 25 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma G. Jones 25 

No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 26 

No. 30— PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 29— THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 25 

No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 27— WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas 25 

No. 26 — FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage 25 

No. 25— THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr 25 

No. 24— THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 23— DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD 25 

No. 22— A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 21 — THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta 25 

No. 20 — INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner 25 

No. 19 — A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison 25 

No. 18 — ROSAMOND, by Mrs. .Mex. McVeigh Miller 25 

No. 17— THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 25 

No. 16— SYBIL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by Mrs. May Agnes Fleming 25 

No. 14— FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford 25 

No. 13— THE BRIDE-ELECT, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 12— THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 11— BADLY MATCHED, by Mrs. Helen Corwin Pierce." 25 

No. 10— OCTAVIA’S PRIDE, by Charles T. Manners 25 

No. 9— THE WIDOW’S WAGER, by Rose Ashleigh 25 

No. 8— WILL SHE WIN? by Emma Garrison Jones 25 

No. 7— GRATIA’S TRIALS by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

No. 6— A STORMY WEDDING, by Mrs. Mary E. Bryan 25 

No. 6— BRUNETTE AND BLONDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

No. 4— BONNY JEAN, by Mrs. E. Burke ColUns 25 

No. 3— VELLA VERNELL; or, AN AMAZING MARRIAGE, by Mrs. Sumner 

Hayden 25 

No. 2— A WEDDED WIDOW, by T. W. Hanshew 25 

No. 1— THE SENATOR’S BRIDE, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well bound, and 
In handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
podtdgc frtt, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Bose Street, New York. 


F. O. Box 2734. 


The Secret Service Series. 


DEYOTED TO STORIES OF THE DETECTION OF CRIME. 


No. 40— RUBE BURROWS’ LEAGUE, by Marline Manly 25 

No. 39— THE VESTIBULE LIMITED MYSTERY, by Alex. Robertson, M. D. 25 

No. 38— THE LOS HUECOS MYSTERY, by Eugene T. Sawyer 25 

No. 37-A WOMAN’S HAND, by Nick Carter 25 

No. 36-THE GREAT TRAVERS CASE, by Dr. Mark Merrick 25 

No. 35— MUERTALMA ; or, THE POISONED PIN, by Marmaduke Dey 25 

No. 34— DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGER, by R. M. Taylor 25 

No. 33-OLD SPECIE, by Alex. Robertson, M. D 25 

No. 32— ADVENTURES AND EXPLOITS OF THE YOUNGER BROTHERS, by 

Henry Dale 25 

No. 31— A CHASE ROUND THE WORLD, by Mariposa Weir 25 

No. 30-GOLD-DUST DARRELL, by Burke Brentford 25 

No. 29- THE POKER KING, by Marline Manly 25 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, by Edwin S. Deane 25 

No. 27— THE REVENUE DETECTIVE, by Police Captain James 25 

No. 26— UNDER HIS THUMB, by Donald J. McKenzie 25 

No. 26— THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, by Ned Buntline 25 

No. 24— THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, by Leander P. Richardson 26 

No. 23— A MYSTERIOUS CASE, by K. F. Hill , 25 

No. 22— THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland 26 

No. 21— THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter 25 

No. 20— THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, by K. F. Hill 26 

No. 19— THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor 26 

No. 18— A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter 25 

No. 17— THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter 26 

No. 16— THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. Cobb 26 

No. 16 — TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor 26 

No. 14— THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, by “Old Hutch.” 26 

No. 13— DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauffer 26 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray 26 

No. 11— THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer 26 

No. 10— THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by George W. Goode 26 

No. 9 — OLD MORTALITY, by Young Baxter 26 

No. 8 — LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Captain James 26 

No. 7— THE CHOSEN MAN, by Judson R. Taylor 26 

No. 6— OLD STONEWALL, by Jndson R. Tav'lor 25 

No. 5— THE MASKED DETECTIVE, by Judson R. Taylor .] 26 

No. 4— THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. HilL 26 

No. 3— VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by “Old Sleuth.” 26 

No. 2— BRUCE ANGELO, THE CITY DETECTIVE, by “Old Sleuth.” 26 

No. 1— BRANT ADAMS, THE EMPEROR OF DETECTIVES, by “Old Sleuth.” 25 

For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
free, to uny address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P* 0* Box 2734* 25 to 31 Bose Street^ New York* 


Jl^e S<^a apd St?ore Seri(^5. 


Stories of Strange Adventure Ashore and Afloat. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. 

No. 28-TEXAS JACK, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 27— CAMILLE, by Alexandre Dumas, Ills. 

No. 26-REl) DICK, THE TIGER OF CALIFORNIA, by Ned 
Duiitliiie. 

No. 25-DASHING CHARLIE, by Ned BuntUne. 

No. 24-BUFFALO BILL’S LAST ^YICTORY, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 23-BUFFALO BILL’S BEST SHO , by Ned Buntline. 

No. 22-THE STRUGGLE FOR MAVERICK, by J. F. Fitts. 
No. 21— ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM, by Burke Brentford. 

N(k 20-THE HOUSE OF SILENCE, by Dr. J. H. Robinson. 

No. 19-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S TRAIL, by Alex. Robert- 
i^son, M. D. 

No. 18-THE YANKEE CHAMPION, by Sylvanus Cobb., Jr. 

No. 17— FEDORA, from the famous play of the same name, by 
Victorien Sardou. 

No. 16-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15-THE GOLDEN EAGLE, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 14-THE FORTUNE-TELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, by Prof. 
Wm. H. Peck. 

No. 13-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, by Alex. Rob- 
ertson, M.D. ‘ 

No. 12-HELD FOR RANSOM, by Lieut. Murray. 

No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, by Alex. 
Robertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9-THE MAN IN BLUE, by Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8-BEN HAMED, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 7-RUY BLAS, by Victor Hugo. 

No, 6— THE MASKED LADY, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 5— THEODORA, fiom tlie celebrated play, by Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 4-THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, by Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, by Mrs. M. Y. Victor. 

No. 2 — The silver ship, by Lewis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH MONTE CRISTO. 

For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
free, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents each, by the publishers, STREET & SMITH, 

P. 0. Box 2734, , 25, 27, 29 and 81 Bose Street, New York. 


THE 




No. I— WOMEN’S SECRETS; or, How 

TO BE Beautiful. . . *25 

No. 2— MILL’S UNIVERSAL LETTER- 

WRITER 25 

No. 3— HERRMANN’S BLACK ART " . 25 

No. 4— SELECT RECITATIONS AND 

READINGS. . . . .25 

No. 5— ZOLA’S FORTUNE-TELLER. . 25 
No. 6— BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE. . 25 
No. 7— ZOLA’S DREAM BOOK. . . 25 

No. 8— HOYLE’S GAMES. ... 25 

No. 9— HERRMANN’S TRICKS WITH 

CARDS 25 


These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well 
bound, and in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and 
Newsdealers; or sent, postage free, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, STREET & SMITH, 

26, 27, 29 and 81 Rose Street, New York* 


s. & s. 

Hanaal hiimy. 

Ifo. 1— The Album- Writer’s Assisjtant 10 

No. 2— The Way to Dance 10 

No. 3— The Way to Do Magic 10 

No. 4:— The Way to Write Letters 10 

No. 6— How to Behave in Society 10 

No. 6— Amateur’s Manual of Photography 10 

No. 7— Out-of-Door Sports 10 

No. 8— How to Do Business 10 

No. 9 —The Young Gymnast 10 

No. 10— The Hunter and Angler 10 

No. 11— Short-Hand for Everybody 10 

No. 12— The Taxidermist’s Manual 10 

No. 13— Riddles and Their Answers 10 

No. 14— The Peerless Reciter 10 

No. 15— The Young Elocutionist 10 

No. 16— Callahan’s Easy Method of VentrUoquIsm 10 

No. 17— The Standard Reciter 10 

No. 18— Cupid’s Dream Book 10 

No. 19— Napoleon’s Book of Fate... 10 

No. 20— The Imperial Fortune -TeUer 10 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well 
bound, and in handsome covers. For sale by all Bookseliers and 
Newsdealers; or sent, postage free, on receipt of price, by the pub 
Ushers, STREET & SMITH, 

25, 27, 29 and 31 Bose Street, New Torlu 



Issued weekly. Price, 5 cents per copy. 

No other five-cent paper gives such a high grade of reading matter 
suitable for readers of all ages. It contains stories of 

ADTENTURE AND TRAVEL, EISTERTAINING AND INSTRUCTIVE ARTICLES, 
HUMOROUS SKETCHES, of a refined nature, SERIES OF SHORT TALKS 
WITH THE BOYS, describing tlie character of Trades and Occupations, 
ATHLETIC SPORTS. SHORT SCIENTIFIC ITEMS, EXCHANGE COLUMN, 
HUMANE SOCIETY, PUZZLES, PRIZES, PREMIIJMS, Etc. 

Among the contributors will be found the following popular names: 

HORATIO ALGER, JR., OLIVER OPTIC, HARRY CASTLEMON, EDWARD S. 
ELLIS, JAMES OTIS, MAX ADELER, GEORGE H. COOMER, LIEUT. 
LIONEL LOUNSBERRY, WM. H. THOMES, CHARLES W. FOSTER, JOHN 
R. CORYELL, LIEUT. JAMES K. ORTON, WALTER MORRIS, W. B. 
LAWSON, ARTHUR SEWALL. 

The illustrations and typographical appearance of GOOD NEWS 
are in keeping with the high literary merit of its contents. 



is a sixteen-page paper, and is growing rapidly in circulation. 

We will send you No. 1 to No. 10 GOOD NEWS inclusive for 10 
cents, as samples. Address 

P. O. Box 2734. GOOD NEWS^ 31 Eose street, N. Y. 





THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST! 


UNANIMOUSIiY ACKNOWI.EDGED TO BE THE 

GREATEST STORY AND SKETCH PAPER. 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWSDEALERS. 
BY MAIL, $3 A YEAR, POSTAGE EREE. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

26 to 81 Rose Street, New York. 


PROVIDENCE & STONINGTON S. S. CO. 



NEW YORK & BOSTON, 

Providence, Worcester, 


AND ALL EASTERN POINTS. 


PROYIDENCE LINE. 

(May to November.) 

The longest water route and short- 
est rail ride (only 42 miles) of any 
Sound Line. Steamers the peers 
of any in the World. An orches- 
tra on each. Parlor Car Trains 
direct from Steamers’ Landing to 
Boston and Worcester. Connec- 
ting for all points in New England. 
During the season a Parlor Car 
Train runs from Steamers’ Landing 
to the 

WHITE MOUNTAINS 
Without Change. 
Steamers leave Pier 29, N. R., 
daily, except Sunday, at 5 or 5:30 
P. M. 


STONINGTON LINE. 

(Throiigbout the Year.) 

This is the Inside Route, and 
especially sale and comfortable 
in Winter. Connects at Stoning- 
ton with THEEE Express Trains 
for Boston, Worcester, and all 
points North and East. Steamboat 
Express to and from Boston has 
reclining chair Parlor Cars with- 
out extra charge. This is the only 
direct Sound route in Summer to 

NARRAGANSETT PIER 
and WATCH HILL. 

Steamers leave New Pier 36, N. R., 
daily, except Sunday, at 4:30 or 5 
P. M. 


Send for Book of Summer Excursion 
Tours and Rates 


to O. H. BRIGGS, 

J. W. Miller, GenM Pass. Agent, 

Pres’t. New Pier 86, N. R,, New York, 


UK EIIIE IIID 
ntN BUD, 

Ft. Wayne, Cincinnati, and Louisville Railroad. 

“Natural Gas Route.” The Popular Short Line 

— BETWEEN — 

Peoria, Bloomington, Chicago, St. Lonis, Springfield, Lafayette, 
Frankfort, Muncie, Portland, Lima, Findlay, Fostoria, 
Fremont, Sandusky, Indianapolis, Kokomo, Peru, 
Bocliester, Plymouth, LaPorte, Michigan 
City, Ft. Wayne, Hartford, Blnfifton, 
Connersville, and Cincinnati, making 
Direct Connections for all Points East, West, North, and South* 


THE ONLY LINE TRATERSING 

The Great Natural Gas and Oil Fields 

Of Ohio and Indiana, giving the patrons of this Popular Route an 
opportunity to witness the grand sight from the train as they pass 
through. Great fields covered with tanks in which are stored millions 
of gallons of Oil, Natural Gas wells shooting their flames high in the 
air, and the most beautiful cities, fairly alive with glass and all kinds 
of factories. 

We furnish our patrons with Elegant Reclining Chair Car Seats Free 
on day trains, and L., E. & W. Palace Sleeping and Parlor Cars on night 
trains, at very reasonable rates. 

Direct connections to and from Cleveland, Buffalo, New York, Boston, 
Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburg, Washington, Kansas City, Denver, 
Omaha, Portland, San Francisco, and all points in the United States 
and Canada. 

This is the popular route with the ladies, on account of its courteous 
and accommodating train officials, and with the commercial traveler 
and general public for its comforts, quick time and sure connections. 

For any further particulars caU on or address any ticket agent* 

H. C. PARKER, CHAS. F. DALY, 

Traffic Manager, GenT Pass* & Tkt* Agt, 

Indianapolis, Ind. 



THE 

Delaware 

AND 

Hudson 
Railroad. 

THE ONIiY DIRECT ROUTE TO THE GREAT 



ADIRONDACI MOUNTAINS 


Lake George, Lake Chaniplaiu, Ausable Chasm, the Adiron- 
dack Monntains, Saratoga, Round I Lake, Sharon 
Springs, Cooperstown, Howe’s Cave, and the 
Celebrated Gravity Raili'oad between Carbon - 
dale and Honesdale, Pa., present the 
Greatest Combination of Health and Pleasure Resorts in America. 


THE DIRECT L.INE TO THE SUPERB SUMMER HOTEL 
OF THE NORTH, 

“THE HOTEL CHAMPLAIN,” 

(Three Miles South of Plattsburgh, on Lake Champlain). 


The Shortest and IVIIost Comfortable Route 
Between New York and Montreal. 

In Connection with the Erie Railway, the most Picturesque 
and Interesting Route between Chicago and Boston. 

The only through Pullman Line. 


Inclose Six Cents in Stamps for lUustrated Guide to 

H. G. YOUNG, J. W. BURDICK, 

2d Vice-President, Oen’l Pass. Agrent, Albany, N. Y, 




XHE FINEST ON EARTH 


THE ONLY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 


•WITH DINING- CAB 

BETWEEN 


CINCINNATI, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


THE FAVORITE LINE 

cncmun to 81 . 10018 , 

Heokixk, SpringfiLeld, 

cizid JPeoria* 


THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 

BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findiay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS and CANADA. 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati and 
Points Enumerated^ the Year Round. 


1 . D. VOnDFOBD. Fice-FiGS. E. lIcCOMCI, Gen. Pass. 







n 



Xt7E pi^Ifni^OSE 5EI^1E5 

O IT 

WORLD’S BEST FICTION, 

Comprising translations of the best foreign fiction, together with the 
works of popular English and American Authors. * 


ISSUED 5E/T\I-/I\0j'lS[lCY. PHIQE, 50 


No. i Anothe*- roan’s Wife, hj Bertha M. Clay. 50 
No. 2 The OeSSe of the Season, by Mrs. Harriet 


Lewis 50 

No. 3 Doctor Jack, by St. George Rathborne 50 

No. 4 Kathleen Doug:las, by Julia Truitt Bishop. 50 

No. 5 Her Royal Lover, by Ary Ecilaw 50 

No. 6 Jose, by Otto lluppius 50 

No. 7 H;s Word of Honor, by E. Werner 50 

No. 8 A Parisian Romance, by A. l). Hall 50 
No. 9— A Woman’s Temptation, by Bertha M. 

Clay ^ . 50 

No. 10 Stella Rosevelt, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 50 

No. I I— Oeyond Pardon, by Bertha M. Clay 50 

No. 12 Lost A Poarle, hy Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 50 

No. 13 The Partners, by Alphonse Baudet 50 

No. 14 Sardou’s Cleopatra, by A. B. Hall 50 

No. 15 The Lone Ranch, by Capt. Mayne Reid. .. 50 


THE PRIMROSE SERIES combines the highest art of book- 
making with the best fiction that can be obtained. For sale by all 
Booksellers and Newsdealers; or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

STREET & SMITH, PUBLlSHERSj 
P. O. BOX 2734. 25-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


THE SELECT SERIES 

OF 

POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT STORIES. 

No. 81— A GODDESS IN EXILE, by Philip S. Warne 25 

No. 80— THRICE WEDDED, BUT ONLY ONCE A WIFE, by Mrs. Sheldon 26 

No. 79— THE GAY CAPTAIN, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 78— VASHTI’S FATE; or, PURIFIED BY FIRE, by Helen Corwin Pierce.. 26 

No. 77— THE THREE BLOWS, by Karl Drury 25 

No. 76 — A PROUD DISHONOR, by Genie Holtzmeyer 25 

No. 76 — THE WIDOWED BRIDE, by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

No. 74— THE GRINDER PAPERS, by Mary Kyle DaUas 25 

No. 73— BORN TO COMMAND, by Hero Strong 25 

No. 72 — A MODERN MIRACLE, by James Franklin Fitts 25 

No.- 71— THE SWEET SISTERS OF INCHVARRA, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 70 — HIS OTHER WIFE, by Rose Ashleigh 25 

No. 69— A SILVER BRAND, by Charles T. Manners.!.! !!!!! 25 

No. 68— ROSLYN’S TRUST, by Lucy C. Lillie !.. 25 

No. 67 — WILLFUL WINNIE, by Harriet Sherburne 25 

No. 66 — ADAM KENT’S CHOICE, by Humphrey Elliott 25 

No. 65 — LAURA BRAYTON, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 64— YOUNG MRS. CHARNLEIGH, by T. W. Hanshew 25 

No. 63— BORN TO BETRAY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 62— A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 61 — THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, by Hon. Evelyn Ashby 25 

No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. C. Williams !!!!!! 25 

No. 69 — WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 26 

No. 58 — KILDHURM’S OAX, by Julian Hawthorne 25 

No. 57— STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 25 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 25 

No. 55— ROXY HASTINGS, by P. HamUton Myers 25 

No. 54 — THE FACE OF ROSENFEL, by C. H. Montague 25 

No. 53— THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 25 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong 26 

No. 50— MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 25 

No. 49— GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 25 

No. 48 -THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 25 

No. 47— SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 46— A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. BeUamy 25 

No. 45— WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame 25 

No. 44— A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 25 

No. 42— A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 25 

No. 41— BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore 25 

No. 40 — AT A GIRL’S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 25 

No. 39— MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 38— BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 25 

No. 37— IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 25 

No. 35 — CECILE’S MARRIAGE by Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

These popular hooks are larire t\ pe editions, well printed, well hound, and 
in handsome covers. For sale hy all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, hy the puhlishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Bose Street, New York. 


P. O. Box 2734. 





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